I don’t know why I cry in my sleep I don’t know why, but I do. I don’t know why I cry in my sleep Something must be given away Something must be crying for help Something deep inside, hidden under the Layers and layers of bullshit, Something that I’ve hidden so well all these years. Something that only escapes when I can’t. And I’m stuck, feeling trapped in this darkness And misery, and shit. I don’t know why I cry when I sleep It could be just a dream, I guess. It could be that I just can’t pretend anymore As I am sleeping, dropping my guard, Laying there unguarded and naked and free, Waiting for the morning to come and for The new day to begin, to start anew. I wish I could start this life from scratch, But years went by like this, and so many things I cannot get back anymore, They’re lost in the holes of history, There are no returns. Maybe I’ll just let it go for a while, Let the misery leave me as these tears Rolling down my face, wetting my pillow, Waking me up, sobering me up, Getting myself ready, making myself Understand. I think I like it like that, Let it go, let it go. It’s going to be just fine.
It’s 1 am in the morning or at night, As I sit here on my backyard patio Smoking my cigarettes, thinking my thoughts. And the wind picks up and rolls the dead leaves on the ground Letting me know that the summer was over. It is over, man. All over. As the cigarette burns and the trees shake off the dead leaves And I sit here and wonder, Getting more drunker and older and cold. I am on my seventh beer, and the night is still young. But sadly, I am not young anymore, as I age by the minute Rolling through my life like the dry yellow leaves blown by the wind, Out of my mind and out of my youth. I am not getting younger, but I always wanted to be strong, To be a true man, gentleman, to be an independent person. But I am so weak as I still depend on so many things Like those cigarettes, like that beer, like that night, Like those leaves and the trees in my backyard. The air is getting colder, and the wind blows harder, And I know I have to get back inside. I have to get back to the house, To my family, to my bed, to my life. It is Friday night in Pennsylvania, And all I have is another six hours of sleep And another six-pack of beer, and there’s Another three cigarettes left in the pack To keep me going through the night like a renegade, Like a monster, like a lost soul. And just like that, another new poem came to be. A fresh new poem after a while. And I am happy to have you again. It’s been a long time, my friend, It’s been a long life.
Unwanted, unneeded, unfit, rejected. Society is still out there, doing its thing But you are not part of it anymore, any longer. You used to be there, and you had that spark in your eyes But the tides have shifted, and now You’re drowning in the darkness of the muddy waters, Eating shit with shellfish, and seaweed, and sadness. Sitting all alone in the darkness, chainsmoking And pouring more wine in your glass bought on credit, You’ve seen the better days, some days before. Now, all you can see is the misery and despair. There is a cold spring wind blowing in the night The cigarette is feeling cold, too. There is no job tomorrow and nowhere to go, There is just more of this emptiness and cigarette smoke. You’ve had your success, and you’ve been down before, But each time, it feels like it’s the worst one yet. This fucking life always goes up and down And you have to learn to play this game sometime. People meant to live, and people meant to die, People meant to suffer, and people meant to survive. I am fighting hard, but my fighting with myself, Killing my shadow in the uneven match. The moon is up high, and there are planes in the sky Going somewhere. The stars are all there and have no other business but shine. You were the star once, and you’ve shone bright and high, But even the stars do go down once in a while. And you went down to the lowest of the low, The lowest you’ve ever been, with all that success in the past. There will be tomorrow and some more days in your life You’ll figure out living as you’re learning to die.
( This piece has no literary value. From the late-night beer-infused Saturday night rant series)
The cold beer feels great going down my throat. I actually feel fucking great. I fucking love my beer. I fucking love to just sit back, play some music, drink my beer, knowing that there is nothing else I have to or want to do. There is a vinyl record spinning on the turntable. I realized that I hadn’t used the turntable in a while. What a shame. I have over two hundred records collecting dust, but I am not doing shit about it. I know I have them. I know where they are. I realize what a bunch of great fucking record collections I have, but I’m just too busy dealing with life to enjoy that music. I just keep forgetting to get back to it, to enjoy it a little bit. There are records that I acquired years ago, and I still remember where I bought them and sometimes even how much I paid for them. Certain memories stay with you forever. They might not always be the most important memories, but there is something special about them, so I still have some recollection of the time and space, my life then, my experiences, and my thoughts… Music is one of the greatest things in life. It can be both tangible and intangible. You can just sing the song out loud, and it would make you feel happy. But also, you can have a 180 mg vinyl playing on the turntable, which would bring the greatest joy and satisfaction. I am not a hoarder, but I do love collecting certain things. I love to have them, to see them, to touch them, to smell them. I am a young fella, but I do love the old shit. The old music makes me feel great. The black and white movies make me happy as well. It seems like back in the old days of black and white TV, or when music was pressed on vinyl, life was so much fucking better. It seems like life back then was more fun, it was more real, and authentic, and you could feel and smell things and get a great sense of the past life. I get some sort of weird nostalgia while experiencing the old things, the old school, the old way. I think that even cigarettes were a hundred times better for you back then. Somehow, the more we advance as a civilization, the deeper we get into the nowhere. Somehow the things are so fucking dull and tasteless and surreal that I don’t even what to be part of any of it. Fuck it all. I want to be real. I want the real shit. I want good wine or beer, a good piece of meat, a good cigarette, and fresh morning air filling my lungs. I want the smell of a freshly printed paperback. Nothing smells better than a fresh, brand-new paperback or a cup of great, freshly brewed coffee. I mean, how much do you really need to be happy? If you really think about it, it is not that much. The little things always make the man feel alive, feel like a man, and that life is worth something. These are the nights in white satin, and there is so much about the nights, and satin, and music, and beer, and life, and cigarette burning in your hand while you sit back and let go. Just go on. Let me take a little breather. Let me take a little break from all the fucking madness, for fuck’s sake. Do I have to be present, worried, and responsible for everything? Sometimes, I feel like I can move mountains. But sometimes, the opposite is true. Sometimes, I just want to fuck off. I want to sit on my sofa in my basement, endlessly drinking my beer while listening to music and writing down all my nonsense. One day, I decided I wanted to be a writer. And I became one. I don’t write all that much, but I have written a lot. I am trying to be to stay productive. Before, it felt like a foreign concept. It felt like a dream. And then, some days later, I made that dream come true. I made that dream come to life, giving me something to live for and strive for. It usually takes me a lot of time to come around, but when I do, I am on it. I love watching myself becoming a new me. The old me was a dick, a confused nobody, a lowlife, a useless fuck. Once I overcame that mental roadblock and explored new territories, things started to move, to come about, and things started to happen. Good shit started to happen. And I couldn’t be more happy with that. I couldn’t be more happy with myself. And I couldn’t be happier seeing myself producing the words through poems and the short stories that eventually became books years later. Fuck. I fucking made it. I fucking made it happen. I became a true writer. Something that was just a dream and some sort of delusional obsession had become my new reality. I am a writer with two self-published books, and the third one is in the closing stages. I am doing something. I am being productive, maybe not as productive as I could’ve been, but slowly and surely, shit is happening. And now, looking back, I don’t feel bad at all. I feel satisfied. I feel like I made my dream a reality. I am a writer. Even though no fans are knocking at my door. Even though there are no sales and book lists. Even though there are no book deals, I still outperformed my old self from those early desperate years, and I have some proof to show for it. But mainly, I proved to myself that the dream is possible. A simple dream is possible for anyone, even losers, as I have been for most of my life. Dream your dreams, my friend, and go after them. It will open a new world for you worth something. It is definitely much better than sitting on your ass doing nothing at all, waiting for death to come and take you away, or waiting for the next day, just hopelessly hoping it would bring anything better. I waited a fair amount of time in my life this far. I have no fucking patience no more. I want it all, and I want it now. I have no time to waste. I have no time to lose. The only fucking thing I do have besides my sorry-ass is the time, and I am on that fucker all the time. I hate to waste time. I hate to lose it. I hate somebody else taking and wasting my fucking time. I guess there is a reason why I own ten watches. I do fucking have a deep appreciation for the time and watchmaking, indeed. I cherish every minute that goes by, goes sideways, into infinity as I get older and wiser or dumber, or whatever. Time is a fascinating thing. It comes through you and leaves scars on your soul and face in the form of sadness, anxiety, deep wrinkles, gray hair, and bad eyesight. Time is all we have…
Silver Mercedes-Benz E-class pulled out of the parking space and slowly rolled out of the huge rectangular parking lot towards the gates on the west side of the corporate building. The twenty-year-old car was well polished, with clean, shiny rims and tires, and with original light-blue window tint, and it never looked true to its age. Behind the wheel was a man in his mid-thirties with a mid-size black beard and dark aviator shades. The man was dressed in a nice, white-crisp dress shirt, black jeans, and black dress shoes. His name was John Brahmovski. He was exiting the company’s parking lot and heading home. It was time. It was five minutes past five o’clock.
One after another, cars pulled out of the parking lot, exiting the premises. The working day was over. Now, people were living on their own time, at their own expense, heading home thinking about the rest of the day, their homes, families, bills to pay, dinner to eat, friends to visit, kids to take care of, or just get home and binge-watch something on TV. This is our modern life, and we are all part of it in one way or another, and there are many ways to live it. We all have our choices, and we all make our choices. As long as we all have a job, we are good. There was at least one less thing to worry about on those warm, sunny, late-summer evenings.
The man in his mid-thirties pulled closer to the gates and waited for them to open. The motion sensors on the black metal gates triggered and pulled to the left, letting cars exit the parking lot. The man hit the right turn signal and joined the early evening post-work traffic. Inside the car, loud rock music was playing from the CD through the half-open window, and the man searched around with his right hand for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He hasn’t smoked all day. He was dying for a cigarette. This has been his first day on the new job. This might as well be the first day of his new life. Just yesterday, he’s been unemployed or unemployable, as he often joked about himself, and now he was back in business.
The new job was with a respected car company, and the pay was decent. His new team seemed like a bunch of good people from first sight, and the first day overall went pretty damn smoothly. There was nothing to worry about. It was time to relax, take it easy, and enjoy the ride while it lasted. He knew damn well that there was no security with any jobs anywhere anymore. There was no hope for tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. There is only one hope to make it home to see your family, have dinner with them, have a glass or two of red wine, and smoke a cigarette before going to bed, forgetting about the day passing. As he joined the traffic, he lit his cigarette and exhaled a huge cloud of smoke through his window and into the evening traffic. It felt liberating. It felt really good. Smoking is never fucking good for nobody, but also are so many other things that make a man feel great. Somehow, the only healthy things are the ones nobody wants to do or consume. Paradox. There was always this side and the other side. He was too young to think about the other side yet. Life has just begun. Fuck it all. Live and let live, man. Just keep it simple and keep it rolling until the wheels come off.
Mercedes was rolling on the highway, switching lanes frequently, depending on the traffic. He was an experienced driver. He saw, reacted, acted, and made his moves smoothly, feeling the traffic, reading the road and the lanes, and feeling for those who didn’t know how to drive in that evening madness. He exhaled the thick white cigarette smoke up in the air as the music blasted on the car speakers. Cigarette, music, speed, new job; he had plenty of reasons to be excited. Life wasn’t fair to him for a while, and it almost felt strange to see it change in such a new and much better direction. Why not be happy for once? Sometimes the sun shines through the rain, motherfucker, he recalled the quote from an old classic rock song. Here comes the sun over my head, he thought, driving seventy miles per hour with his front window half open and the five o’clock sun warming his face from the West.
At home, his wife and their three-year-old son were waiting for him. He was excited to see them again after a long day at work. They’ve been inseparable for a long time, and now daddy has a new job. John was unemployed for the last five months as it was a pain in the ass to land a new gig. The prior job fired him based on poor performance. John disagreed with that conclusion as he always worked his ass off working long and late hours to get the job done. No attempts of his to make it all work were appreciated. He got no support on that job, only criticism. Fuck ‘em all, he thought. He actually thought about that firing a lot over the months that passed. He knew those fucks hated him, and he grew up to hate them back. Feelings were mutual, and the firing wasn’t a surprise to nobody at the end of the day. He had no choice. He accepted that, knowing that he was used and betrayed. Yet another corporate bullshit he had stumbled upon. That kind of shit just never ends. The saddest thing was that he was his family’s primary and only breadwinner, and they enjoyed living off his six-figure salary for the last two years. There was never a concern about grocery shopping, buying things, month-long vacations in Florida, going out to dinners, or meeting friends, and countless evenings around the family dinner table with light jazz music, a nice meal, and a top-shelf bottle of nice red wine. It all ended in one day, and they had to readjust to a new, humble, conservative life. As time went by and the countless job searches led nowhere, his shit was out of luck. He thought about his future and his family’s future more than ever.
John wrote in his journal about the day he received Food Stamps.
“I checked my mail late in the evening after taking out my trash, and the Food Stamps card came in the mail. Inside, opened the letter, and there it was. The help from the government to me because I have fallen so low in life. I looked at it, and within seconds, I felt both sadness and embarrassment, as I had not felt for a very long time. There was more embarrassment than anything else that I felt at that moment, and I feel the same fucking embarrassment right now thinking about that Food Stamps card that has been untouched on my island table since it came yesterday. It needs activation. I need re-activation in my life as never before. I came from a six-figure salary down to this, a Food Stamps card, and two-and-a-half-month delayed unemployment compensation, which I also received earlier this week. I had to cash out my 401K plan savings from my old job a few weeks ago, losing around 4K in that transaction. And that is my life now. I never worried about saving money or spending while I had a job. Now, I have nothing, and nothing is even close to a potential future opportunity. I have fucking hit the rock bottom yet again. How did I get here? Where did I make the wrong move? I always thought I was following the rules and doing the right thing. I have signed up to do the right thing since my early days. Now, this right thing is no longer required, needed, or helped me in any way.”
Interstate 95 was busy that evening, and John navigated the traffic as well as he could. He was not in a rush. The rush was over for him. He enjoyed this great new feeling that overwhelmed him. That was the feeling of new beginnings. The feeling of hope, new life, and a new chance, a new journey. He felt worthless so much and so often that knowing that there was a job now that needed you and paid you well, and you could be great at it, and you could build your fucking career, as a result, was a great feeling. Also, he was mainly happy because he could provide for his family again, just like in the good old days. Over the last five months, we felt like shit often. His hands were tight, nobody needed him at the job, and there were no decent jobs to get into. All he had was his loving family, his balls, and his persistence. Sometimes, there are no other options but waiting. Wating is a killer of the soul. He’s been waiting forever. There was always something else dragging him down, staying in his way, other people who were just shitty fake people he had to deal with. There was always too little or too much of everything happening at the same time. There were a lot of great moments, but there was very little to no time to enjoy them because of this or that; mainly, there was too much job bullshit in his world, and he had to make it work somehow in the name of providing a great life for his family. He would do anything for his family.
“I do feel sad somehow. I do feel sad and useless that I am unemployed. I know that having a job at least makes you somewhat important to society and makes you feel better about the opportunity to provide for your family. I am living on my last dimes, and I don’t give a fuck about society. But I still feel down. I feel like after 50+ applications that I’ve completed and the interviews I’ve done this far, all went to shit. I don’t even feel like joining a professional workforce, but I know that I have to. The longer I am unemployed, the worse it is for me. I wish I could be as happy as I thought I could be, but I am not. The unemployment checks have not come yet; I would feel more secure once they get through. That is not much, but it is something. Right now, I will run out of money in about a month. My credit card is getting filled with more misery each day, and I know I have to spend money. I need to spend money, but also, I know that that shit will be hanging over me like a fucking seesaw. I want to be in the moment and enjoy this present moment, but I can’t. I am just not. I feel like a loser without a job or income and not much money left to live on. I would have to spend my mother’s or my son’s savings, which breaks my heart and makes me feel even more miserable. I don’t want to spend all this precious vacation time applying for jobs. I just do a bare minimum to satisfy the unemployment claim, but these fuckers haven’t completed a single of my claims yet. I don’t know what to do. I sent them an email today. I need to be more proactive with that shit. I need that misery of compensation regardless.”
It was about an hour and ten minutes commute home. It was just enough time to be with yourself and process life while driving. John’s car turned onto his neighborhood’s street, where everything seemed familiar and felt like home. The sun was still up and shining through the window of the car. He smiled, happy to see his house down the street, the second to last house on the right. Other neighbors returned from work, filling the street with their cars. John parked by his house and went inside. His three-year-old son heard him coming in and ran towards him, screaming excitedly and smiling. John picked him up, raised him high, and hugged and kissed his son. He missed that kid so much. It was always good to be back home. There was a smell of something cocking coming from the oven, and he knew that his wife was cooking something good for dinner.
“Hey, welcome back, daddy,” said John’s wife. “How was your first day at work?”
“Hey, I missed you guys,” John hugged and kissed her. “It was alright. Actually, it’s better than expected. I think this might be a good place to work overall. I work with nice people, have a nice office and a friendly environment. I’ve been looking for this job for a long time, and finally, I found what I was looking for.”
“That’s great to hear. I am glad that you like your new place.”
“Yeah, I am glad too. I was ready for anything after such a long break from work, and I would take anything at this point, but thank God, this job doesn’t suck. Fingers crossed, I can stick around at least for the duration of the twelve-month contract, and then we will see.”
“Sounds good. I’m almost done cooking the salmon, and the rice is ready. Go change, and we’ll have dinner.”
“How was the little one behaving today?”
“He was good for about five minutes, then became restless. We went outside to play, we did shopping, we tried to sleep in the afternoon, but he couldn’t, so he’s been playing and running around all day long.”
“Got it. Hopefully, he’s tired by now, and we’ll put him to bed earlier today.”
“Fingers crossed. But that kid never seemed to be tired. I am ready to go to bed right now.”
“I hear you.”
“OK. Go change quickly. Dinner is getting ready. We are so hungry, and I hope you are hungry too.”
“Yes, I am. Very hungry.” Said John and left upstairs to change.
Family dinner around the table was his favorite thing. He loved seeing his family close together, eating, listening to light jazz music on the speaker, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other’s company. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine. It was a perfect occasion to have good wine for dinner with his family. It became a tradition in a way. John’s wife served the dinner, and they all ate like a small, happy family. People don’t need much to be happy, after all.
After dinner, he bathed his son in the bathtub, and his wife went to put their son to sleep. John cleaned the table and the dishes loaded the dishwasher, and sat on the rocking chair to relax. A nightstand lamp lit the room with a warm yellow light, and the classical music played in low volume on the speaker. John sat there and looked around. It was still unbelievable to him that he made it this far through all the bullshit he had to deal with along the way. Life wasn’t easy. It never is. One has to be strong to make it through and to make it work.
Plenty of times, his hope dissolved in the daily misery and chronic depression that overtook him occasionally. He knew that sooner or later, the job would eventually present itself. The only concern was the timing. Time was never on his side. Time was running out and running fast, along with all his savings, and then there were problems, concerns, anxiety, and depression. In two weeks, it would be his thirty-sixth birthday. Birthdays were not exciting anymore. The more you mature, the more you realize that life wasn’t easy with all the problems piling up, unbearable hangovers, there was no time for anything, and there always was too much to deal with every single day. But now, things would be different. Now, there is another chance. The chance he was waiting for a very long fucking time.
John smoked a cigarette outside before going to bed. It was a warm and dark summer night. He could see the stars above and the planes going back and forth about their business. John watched the nightly sky often, and often, he thought to himself how huge this world is, how infinite the sky is, and that there are so many things out there in the universe and the world. He was just so insignificant, almost invisible part of it. Since his childhood, he has always dreamed about his big future. He was always full of hope or just a hopeful fool. Life had its plan for him, and slowly, it unfolded before him. Just yesterday, he was a useless, broke, unemployed, miserable man, staring at the same sky, wondering and asking questions. Today, his world has changed. He knew it. He felt it. He changed inside, even though one couldn’t tell yet. Somehow, he felt a bit of sadness deep down. It wasn’t the kind of sadness that you feel when you are depressed. It was the good kind of sadness you feel when you know you’ve moved on to the better things, the new beginnings.
Back at home, he opened his laptop and wrote in his journal before bed. Tomorrow is a new day, and he will have another chance.
Journal, August 1, 2023
“Well, here I go again. My favorite month of the year is here. It is the month I was born. It is the beginning of a new life, in a way. It is the first day of my new job at this new company. The first day came and went pretty damn calm and easy. I loved the environment, and overall, the fucking office was the best I ever worked at. The people I will be working with all seemed to be nice. There seemed to be some sort of special and relaxed vibes in that place, which surprised me. I mean, the last company supposedly had a nice group of people, but something felt terribly wrong since day one. Here, it is not like that. It’s kind of relaxing. Or maybe I have matured and grown a pair of balls, and I am no longer an anxious and fearful little asshole, afraid of everything and everybody. The office, for the first time in my life, is not fucking freezing cold. From the fifth story, I have a beautiful view of Philly’s downtown skyscrapers on one side and the rest of New Jersey on the other. From what I’ve seen and heard, this job is definitely a few levels up from where I came from. I have to catch up quickly and well. I mean, I am new, and they tolerate that for now, but I have to step up so I don’t embarrass myself and don’t disappoint these nice people and myself. I will do my best. I mean, what the fuck else am I supposed to do? I’ve got my new chance in life and my career, and everything looks promising. I hope to evolve and acclimate fast and well. I am so fucking tired of constantly looking for new jobs, changing jobs, running away from my insecurities, and looking for something almost impossible to find. I mean, let’s make something out of this one. I have a twelve-month contract. They could fire me way before that if I fuck up. So I need not to fuck up or, at least, survive the next twelve months there, learn as much as I can, and my career horizon would expand significantly for any future opportunity. Well, will see how it is all going to play out. At the moment, I am happy where I am. I will try not to fuck it up. I will try to step up to the game in the best possible way. I am fucking happy I’ve landed this new fucking job at last. Thank you, God, and everybody who prayed, helped, supported, and contributed. I do have another chance at it. I am out of Business Analytics for good if this job doesn’t go well. But in the meantime, I am ready to take my chances and for this new life in front of me. Good things are fucking happening. Thanks God.”
It was a Sunday, the day of the Lord. I woke up with a major headache and wanted to pee very badly. I’ve been up late last night drinking myself to stupor, and now I am paying for it. I opened my eyes and looked around the room. It was the same room, nothing unusual. The room was still dark, and I wasn’t sure what time it was, but I assumed it was still night. It was hard to keep my eyes open, so I kept them closed as I rolled out of bed. I remember the way from my room to the bathroom by heart. I walked it so many times. We lived in this house for the last two years, and it was our new home. I went to the door and opened it. I was trying to walk through the door passage and hit the frame. Fuck. Why? I knew why exactly. I was still drunk as shit. I moved out of the room and into the hallway to the bathroom. My wife slept with our kid across the room.
We slept separately since the baby started to move around the bed more, pushing his way through the bed. There was not enough space for us to sleep on one queen-sized bed anymore, so I decided to move out. It was the right decision. I had to wake up early every morning to do some writing and then to start work. Back in the pandemic days, I worked from home like most people. Now, this was in history, and I had to drive to the office three days a week. Also, this was a great decision because I could get drunk or smoke cigarettes before going to bed, and it wasn’t a problem for anyone. Drinking affected my motor skills the most. I could still think well and analyze my surroundings, but my feet would not listen. With the next move, I hit the wall. Shit. I hope I woke nobody up. I was about two steps away from the bathroom. I opened the doors and hit the lights. The fucking fluorescent spotlights hit my eyes like a sucker punch in my face. My headache exploded, and I felt a sudden and sharp pain inside my brain. Damn. This red wine really got me this time. It was going down so smoothly last night. I wasn’t expecting this kind of abuse. The toilet seat looked at me, and I felt relieved. I pulled down my boxers and sat down to pee.
Sitting down to pee wasn’t homo for me. It was more relaxing, and I could really focus on the duty much faster and not miss the bowl. Also, it was more sanitary. We were busy people, and cleaning the piss smell every day was not an option or possibility. I had to work every day, and my wife had to babysit a toddler, which wasn’t an easy task, to say the least. My hard-on from all the drinking barely fit inside the toilet, but I managed to put it inside and relieve myself. The hot, smelly stream hit the toilet bowl, and my headache worsened by the second. I could feel my head pulsing. I could feel my brain on fire. I could feel my insides hurting. I could hear the loud piss stream for almost two minutes before it was over, and then with my eyes closed, I just sat there trying to get myself together and not to think too much because my head was exploding.
I felt great to get all that wine piss out of my system. It felt great to break the endless strick of the never-ending and super annoying dream cycle of the same fucking dream that rolled on and on, over and over for the last few hours of my sleep. I’m glad that my blodder decided to help me out. I glanced at my watch; it was five minutes before four in the morning. I always wore a watch on my wrist, no matter what. I wore a watch during the day, in the shower, and in bed. I am one of those people who should always have a watch on their wrist, even if you don’t actually need it all that much.
Four o’clock felt better. That meant that I could now go back to sleep and have enough sleep to fucking sleep off the wine overdose from last night before the new day began. I knew the kid would be the first to wake up every morning. He wakes up and goes downstairs to his playroom and plates. Sometimes, he gets bored playing alone and goes up to my room, wakes me up, and invites me to play with him. I love the fact that he does it. I love that my son wants me in his life, even if it’s just to play with him. As a first-time father, it is important to have, observe, and feel these things. On the flip side, I never have a chance to get a good amount of much-needed sleep. During the week, I can’t get enough sleep because of work, and on the weekend, I can’t get enough sleep because of my drinking habit.
I did some minimal calculations in my head, and I had about a good four hours of sleep before the new day began. I stood up with my eyes closed and pulled my boxers up. I flushed the dark yellow pee down the drain and walked slowly toward the door. There is a big mirror in the bathroom, and I glanced at it for a second as I was passing by. I didn’t like the look of the person I saw. The hair was all screwed up and messed up on the left side, and the face was all puffed up and swollen. I had huge dark bags under my eyes, and the eyes themselves were red and glassy. The person in the mirror was me. I hated that look more than anything. I hated to be that drunk and in so much pain. I did it to myself. I keep doing it to myself over and over again.
A couple more steps brought me to the doorway with a light switch to my left. I flipped the switch and walked the hell out of there and into the pure darkness of my hall. My room was to my left, and I rushed myself inside like I was about to lose control of my body and I needed something to lean on. Fuck. Why would I have to drink so much? I closed the door as quietly as possible and fell on my bed. I closed my eyes and dozed off in a minute. The booze was taking me over, and I had no control over it. All I could do was to sleep it off. And I slept until the morning.
The best thing about living in the suburbs is the dead quiet at night. It’s even better if your street doesn’t have street lights. Whenever the sun sets down, then the night comes. It is dark and empty outside, and also very peaceful. I love those peaceful evenings in the late Spring, throughout the summer, and early Fall when sitting on the patio outside was a pleasure. I spent a lot of time sitting outside alone in the darkness of the night and in the comfort of my backyard. I had my drinks and cigarettes keeping me company. That was the time to think, to reflect, to drink, and to forget.
I have always so much on my mind that it gets tough to pass through all that mental baggage I’ve accumulated over the past three decades. As an adult, the mental baggage never seems to go away or get even remotely lighter. There are only more shit to take care of and problems to deal with as days go by, as my youth vanes, as I am battling my demons trying to survive. I’ve had it worse. Much worse. Life was never easy on me, and I was never easy on it either. There has always been a gamble, challenge, and the next thing, whatever it was. There were days when I couldn’t fucking move, as I was so depressed and stressed out, constantly overthinking every stupid thing and making a problem out of everything. I made a slave out of myself, chaining myself to some weird, obscure thoughts and fears that paralyzed my brain, my freedom, and my thought process.
I used to be a mess for a very long time. I never had a positive thought all the way through my twenties and into my mid-thirties. Shit just could never align for me. I had to hustle all the time, and once I stopped, I fucking felt like everything stopped. And the next thing I knew, the world crumbled under my feet, and I was falling into yet another deep and dark valley of constant depression and anxiety. Maybe that’s why drinking was an easy way out. It helped me to forget. I helped not to care too much. It helped only temporarily because, on the next day, I always needed more, but the magic wore off, and the hangovers came, and I found myself as miserable as a person can be.
The sun was up and shining through the window into the room as I slept in the same position I had assumed some hours before. I fell on the bed after my midnight bathroom break. I heard the birds chirping outside, and I heard my kid running around the house, making noise, trying to get some attention. I couldn’t open my eyes just yet, but the minute my brain awoke, I felt every cell inside. I felt it through the numbing and still pulsing pain all over. The next thing I noticed was the bad breath from the red wine. Damn, how I hated that smell. I tried to flip onto the other side, and my internal pain flipped as I did that. Shit, why did the morning come so fast? I needed another night to recover from last night’s alcohol overdose. Let me stay here, in my bed, under my blanket, behind the closed door for a while and relax. Let’s just forget about everything. Maybe I could get another hour or so before somebody breaks into my room and wakes me up.
There was no liquid in my head, and my mouth was dry and smelled disgustingly of red wine from last night. I turned towards my nightstand and reached for the bottle of spring water. There always was a bottle of spring water on my nightstand. I still had my eyes closed as I didn’t want to wake up fully. Let me just sip on some water and get back to sleep. Even for another ten to twenty minutes. Fuck how my head hurt. My hand hit the bottle, and it fell out of the nightstand. Now, I had no choice but to open my eyes to pick that fucking bottle back up from the floor. I unscrewed the plastic cap and drank half the bottle right away. Damn. I was so dehydrated I felt like my eyes dried out. I put the bottle back on the nightstand and flipped on my side, closing my eyes and trying to see at least one more dream or no dreams at all. I don’t care for dreams too much. I don’t mind if I only see darkness while sleeping. I just needed another hour to pass out as I checked out in hopes of recovering better.
I don’t know how much time passed before I woke up again. This time, I was up for good. There was no reason to sleep anymore. I was tired of sleeping. I was tired of my hangover. I was tired of feeling sick. I heard sounds coming from downstairs. My wife was up there with our kid. My wife made breakfast, and my kid played as usual, refusing to eat and only asking for sweet treats. It was almost eleven o’clock at that time. I scrolled through my phone, trying to kill some more time. I checked some emails that came in throughout the week. I was so busy I couldn’t barely check them all out. Most of them were bullshit ads, subscription emails, newspaper emails, and some shit I couldn’t remember signing up for. There was nothing there for me. I checked my Instagram and Twitter apps, and twenty minutes later, I realized that I was not getting anything from any of them. What a waste of time and life scrolling through all that useless and short-lived mess of images, texts, and news, and just pretentious, miserable lives of others. What do I have to do with them? I have nothing to do with them. They have nothing to do with me. Why in the fuck were they all in my news feed at all? Life has got to be more meaningful than that. Where is the sense of looking at other people’s lives, never-ending ads, and always-toxic twenty-four-hour news cycles? Fuck all that, I thought. There is a life out there to live. There are things out there to live for. There is my family downstairs, and I am like a mental invalid watching all that bullshit with my sick head, trying to cure my own problems.
I rolled out of bed and walked towards the window. I opened the curtains and lifted the window up to get some fresh late-summer air inside. God knows, there was no air after last night in here. I walked slowly towards the bathroom. My son heard me walk and ran towards me, shouting happily. “Dady, let’s go play with me!” He said that with the most innocent and honest and brightest smile a person could have. Kids certainly have the purest and most honest smiles in the world. Adults all just pretend to be honest most of the time. I smiled back with my stoned, drunk, and still very sleepy face.
“I’ll be right down with you, son,” I said, giving him a little hug. He started to jump from excitement. He always loves to play with his dad. I wish I had that much enthusiasm to always play with him. There is never the right time. There is always something else to think or worry about. There is always the feeling of mental and spiritual exhaustion and a constant desire to be left alone in peace and quiet. Hugging my son felt great. I created that little human. He is my blood and soul. He is a part of me. He is my biggest love in this whole wide crazy fucking world. His small body felt warm and cozy against my bare skin. I felt grateful to have him. It has been my greatest joy to watch him grow, develop, and become a person. Why I was such a fuck up? I don’t know. I have my demons to battle. I am fighting against them all the time. Sometimes, they win, and sometimes I lose.
I took a cold shower, which sobered me up quickly. I wasn’t sleepy anymore; however, my face said the opposite. I washed myself really well, trying to wash out all the dirt inside of me. I believed a great shower would help me clean my consciousness and forget my sins. I brushed my teeth afterward from that annoying wine combined with a nasty morning breath smell. I really felt cleaner. I was getting back to my senses. I knew that I could start this day as a new person. I just wished that new person wouldn’t fuck up towards the end of the day like I tend to do usually. My family needs me. I need them. I have to try my best not to fuck up again. I will try today. I’m sure I can.
I got dressed and came downstairs to our living room. The kid was there happily, running around and showing me his toys, inviting me to play with him. I kissed my wife and hugged her. “Are you feeling better? Did you have a good sleep?” She asked. “Yes, I am much better now. Thanks for taking care of him and getting me a chance to recover a bit.” She knew the minute she saw me. She always knows. “No problem. We already ate. I have some hard-boiled eggs for you, and a salad is on the table. Want some coffee, honey?” She asked. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you, babe!” How lucky I was to have a woman like that in my life? One can only wonder.
The voice that soothes the soul The eyes as deep as the ocean The face reflects love, sadness, and loneliness, And the attitude like nobody else’s. I listen, I watch, I admire I want you to be here with me Sitting on the couch, side-by-side. I want to light your cigarette And listen to you singing your songs To me, in the darkness of the night In the lonely room for two With some red wine in our glasses And the youth to share with each other Until the sun comes up, and as the daylight breaks in And we are both tired and happy Falling asleep next to each other In the room filled with love, passion, and sex, Where the time stands still, and the lonely Cigarette buds sitting in the ashtray As we embrace each other on the king-size bed And there is nobody else, and there is no tomorrow. It is us, right here, right now, and until We are together and in love, and we have Something only we can understand. We have something in common. We have us and our cigarettes and wine, And my books and your records and our passion. We have it all at this moment.
The clock struck twelve am six minutes ago, and that’s how you know it is the beginning of another day. It is still very early or late, depending on how you look at it. How do you look at it? I haven’t slept yet, so it is getting late, and somebody might just be waking up. Who the fuck knows? It is five o’clock somewhere in the world. I am up and about my business, sitting around on my couch typing whatever nonsense comes to my head. What else is there to do? I don’t have a job to go to. It is Saturday, to begin with. The kid is asleep, and so is my wife. I am the only weirdo in the family who likes to stay up late and drink and write and ramble about random shit. So, here we go. Another shitstorm begins. I am listening to the greatest heavy metal playlist I have ever created, and it kicks ass. It has everything that I need this night to get me through. And I have plenty of beer to help me along. “I don’t believe in love” comes from the speaker by Queensryche band, which sounds really sad and romantic at the same time. Love is love. Love is us. Love is life. Love is losing your mind. Love is ruthless. Somebody must have had a bad relationship after all. Haven’t we all had at least one? Sometimes the shit goes sideways, and you know you are trapped here unless you make that tough decision. And sometimes you feel like, fuck, I might give it another chance. I just don’t want to act on impulse anymore. This still might work out to the best. And often, it doesn’t. I learned it the hard way. I have nothing to hold back. I have no regrets. Whatever happened, happened, what’s next is up to me. I moved on a long time ago because I wanted something new, fresh, authentic, and something that felt right. Not that same old annoying, soul-killing horseshit that I know would never end. We all should move on. Should you follow your head, or should you follow your heart? That is a question that has no right answer. Sometimes it’s the first. Sometimes, it’s the second. And sometimes it is both. I did both many times. I thought it was right to follow my heart because this is where the truth was. Because following your heart would make you happy. Many times it is just a bunch of bullshit. Many times, you should be wise enough to separate the delusion from reality. We all learn this too late after the fuckup settles down. I am looking at my typewriter, which I received for my 35th birthday. I only used it several times since last year. It is a sad acknowledgment. I still prefer my laptop for writing. It is much quicker and almost noiseless. That fucking machine is too loud, and the time is always wrong for me to use it. I think this machine could wake up my neighbors. I want my neighbors to be happy. I don’t want any shit from anybody. But that is not my point. My point is that I am not fully living the life I aspired to live. I want to be a writer and a great writer with that. I am not. A glass half full. I suck. But I still write. Some minimal improvements are happening along the way. I am just not letting it all go to shit. I still want to be here and to write and, one fucking long-time coming day, become a great American writer. What’s wrong with my wish? Nothing. It is my wish. I can wish for whatever the fuck I want. Not everyone was born with that kind of desire. Many people are asleep now or at the bar somewhere or watching the fucking TV in their beds, but I am here, typing, drinking, smoking, and writing. I want to be here. I have planned this moment for myself to be here and to do this, and l love it. And I do what I love and do not have much else to do. History repeats itself yet again. Nobody learned from history nothing. We all are repeating the same fucking lame mistakes or are falling into the same fucking traps as we all did back in the day. I have been fired from a job for the third time since my professional employment began over ten years ago. I am still young, sharp, and driven, sometimes or most of the time. I don’t give much shit about any corporate agendas. I am just trying to play the game right. And sometimes, you can get by, and sometimes you can’t. And I was just too fucking tired and annoyed with all that playing around and pushing it along with nobody else giving much fuck. At the same time, work consumed me and my life and my mind and my soul, leaving me with misery and stress and depression and bleeding. I knew this would happen to me one day. It always does. But I kept that bullshit going. I was too happy and comfortable to see a steady bi-weekly paycheck in my bank account, and I was all right with selling my soul to the devil. Am I a sellout? To some extent, yes. But why would anybody reject a well-paying job? Let me milk this cow until there is no milk left, until all the well dries off until I am sick and tired of doing it. My biggest problem was that I hadn’t spent enough time on my writing while busy with a fucking job. That’s why my typewriter wasn’t utilized as it should have been. That’s why I haven’t written as much as I had hoped. That’s how the comfortable living made me fucking lazy and made me a slave to the system. I partially gave up on anything near and dear to my heart and followed the dollar signs. Now, I don’t have anything to my name. All I have is just me. All I have are just my proletarian hopes, dreams, and useless inspirations. Why wouldn’t I follow my dreams? Why wouldn’t I bank on my writing career? Why do I always feel guilty when I have to enjoy every little fucking moment of my life because I am only going around once!? No, there’s no one home in my house of pain except me. I am sitting here and meditating on some deep life philosophy, trying to figure out where I did anything wrong, alone on my sad couch. It is really not that painful. It feels just about okay now. Actually, it feels fucking great not to go to work, not to work for a man, not to sacrifice anything of mine for the sake of others. I have my family with me. That is all I need. They make me go. I love them dearly. I don’t give a fuck about anything else at all. I just want to be around them always and be happy with them. I want to be a famous writer. I want to live and be completely independent no matter what I do. That is where the happiness is hiding, in that strange, obscure territory. Every time you tell yourself no or go against your heart, something slowly dies inside you, and the light turns into darkness, and a little piece of your life goes nowhere. I’d rather have my life be more meaningful and enjoyable, no matter how long or short. I want to live however I want, regardless of whether that plays against anybody else’s agenda. Fuck them all. This is my life. This is my beer. This is my writing. This is my soul. Life is great. I love it no matter what. No matter the weather, I am here, and I am alive, and I can always make shit happen. And I should always make shit happen for me. Sometimes, it is good to go away. Sometimes relocation is an option and a great one. Sometimes, you can’t move your brain somewhere else and forget about your existence, always pilling up more problems. Sometimes you just got to live that fucking life you’ve always wanted because there might not be another tomorrow. Or the tomorrow you will see will be full of shit and misery, and there might not be a place for you. Buddhists don’t rely on logic. They believe in enlightenment (nirvana) that comes from within, and no logic or intellect can do the same or explain that phenomenon. And I think this makes total fucking sense in my situation right now. The only way to see your life from a different perspective is to live your life like you never did but always wanted. And that means to go against the rules, against common sense, against logic, intellect, the rationality, against anything traditional or normal, against anything that others say or think, and just be there, enjoy that moment, live it fully, see it from the other side, feel the power of being you, feel the power of being a rouge, feel the power of a unique perspective and thinking and capture that experience forever, and let it remind you that you can do whatever the fuck you want and enjoy it because most of the others can’t. They’re too weak, too scared, too insecure, too normal, and too shallow. When do you think you should be fully living and enjoying this life? When you retire? How fucking sure are you that you will ever retire? How fucking sure that there will be any fucking energy or life or passion left in you when you fucking pushing 70 and you don’t have to go to work every day. But then, what do you do? Travel the world? Why wouldn’t you travel it now? Drink all the drinks, fuck all you can, smoke all you can, travel all you can, and do whatever fuck you want to do now while there is some light and life and energy, passion, and spirit inside of you begging for more and begging for freedom now. Why would you want to suppress that? For a steady paycheck? For job security? For healthcare insurance? For acknowledgment from others? For economy? For fucking what? “Your life is your life, don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission,” these great words by Charles Bukowski from the poem “The Laughing Heart” are so true and inspiring and so spot on. That’s why I love Bukowski. His poems have a lot of wisdom for an average man to understand, especially this poem. This is why I am writing. This is why I am still at it. This is why I often question myself about how to live this fucking life, so I don’t lose or don’t end up in fucking misery. I might not live forever, but my words and my wisdom can. As long as these are true worlds, as long as these words mean something, they will. They resonate with another lost soul and help it move forward, explore, take risks, and get that one experience that will change the life forever. I am one decision away from getting to where I always wanted to be. It is not a logical or not rational decision, but it will lead me to my happy place. Those Buddhists were on to something. I’m sure. Is the longing for something beautiful, truly inspiring, and relaxing worth the risk of hitting rock bottom? Is it worth risking the uncertainty of tomorrow for a few days of happiness? Is money always a major obstacle in getting to where you want to be? They say being scared means you’re about to do something really brave. Don’t let the unknown stop you from progressing. Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire. And that fire should keep you warm and safe all the time, and all other bullshit will go away. Amen!
It doesn’t take too much to be happy. Not much money and not much effort at all. My family was happy again while visiting Sarasota for the second time this year in July. I saw honest and pure smiles on my wife’s face. My kid was happy, too. He’s changed over the last twenty-four hours for the best. This is the place to be. This is the place to live and enjoy and be happy. Happy as one can be happy. This place, a thousand miles from our home, at the very South of the continent, is surrounded by water, alligators, snakes, golf courses, and the best beaches with the whitest sand surrounded by the warmest ocean with the most magnificent sunsets in the country, feels more like home than anything else. I fell in love with this place years ago, and every year, I cannot wait to come back there to just simply enjoy it. I think I found my home. It is here. It is in this ocean, in palms, in the humid air, sunshine, and the ocean breeze. My family loves to come down here. This place became part of my family tradition. This place became our new home. We are simply happy here. Period.
This year has been an interesting one, to say the least. Everything went a downward spiral, and I went down with it. I got fired yet again in early March and have been looking for a job since. The job search was, and pretty much has always been, a miserable experience. You are selling your soul to these corporate assholes for a stable paycheck and job security, and you try to stay optimistic and enthusiastic because you have to, and maybe somebody will say yes. Most of the time, you end up rejected. That is my story. Somehow I don’t feel like joining the workforce because I know sooner or later, I will get fucked over, fed up with all their nonsense and politics. I’ll be getting miserable waking up every morning hating my life, as the job is eating into my life, and the manic depression would settle over my head like the dark clouds before the hurricane. All those jobs, in my experience, ended similarly. There is no happy ending. There is no ending to that day-to-day working misery. It is always there. Fuck, how much I hate it all.
But the Gods were nice to me recently and gave me another chance. I’ve got another opportunity to prove myself in the corporate environment. I’ve got a new job at last. What will I do and how? I don’t know yet. Is that place the right place for me? I don’t know either. But I will be there. I will try yet again to make something work. I will try to do my best at it, and hopefully, if the stars align for me, I will make my history there and leave my mark. I hope everything is going to be alright. There is no reason to be upset. I am not upset at all. I am happy. I am happy because of this new chance and because I had another chance to spend time in my spiritual home, Sarasota, Florida.
In about two weeks, our lives will change. The change is inevitable, and it is coming, and we are expecting it to come and disrupt our family’s time together. I realize that as much time as I spent with my wife and kid this year, I will probably not have an opportunity anymore. In two weeks, each of us will have to follow our own direction, and our lives will be different. We are still a family, but life is about to happen, and it is about time to move on to the next stage of our lives. It is a healthy way of living. It is the way modern life works. We live here, and we have to follow those rules. There is no other way. I hope this change will be a great motivator for us, will bring us closer, and will make our time together even more pleasurable and precious. I know it will. I started to value my free time and my time with family only after I had the least amount of time to enjoy them. I cherished every minute spent, every occasion, every moment together. Sadly, when time is all we have and when you have all the time in the world, you don’t know what to do with it. It is only after the fact that you realize that there is not much time to spend on family quality time, and you know that you should focus on that more.
I am glad and fortunate that we are doing our best to be together and enjoy our life together. This is why we were in Florida again, and we were so happy there. I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t have any positive or negative inspiration for the future, as I know too many things I just cannot control. But what I can control is today. I can control how I behave in all those situations and make my way out of all the pitfalls. I can control my present to the best of my abilities and make it something great to think and feel about in the coming years. Then I can look back retrospectively and reminisce about the good old days when I wasn’t prioritizing the modern society’s norms and all those rules of the establishment, and where I wasn’t concerned about the money or job situation, but I was simply focused on making the best of what I have and genuinely enjoy it.
Today, I am making my own history. Today, the history of my family is being made. I am in control of my life and my family’s life. I am trying to do my best to create all those great moments for us to remember, to make us better together, and to love, cherish, respect, and value every minute of our family time. And I think we are doing just great. So long as we are together, so long…
I am turning thirty-fucking-six today. It is not a big deal, I could be eighty, and that, I suppose, would indicate that there is not much left. But since I am still early in my journey and am still alive and kicking and smelling the roses, I got to make my mark on my anniversary. I forgot my age for a moment, and I had to count it all again to make sure it was thirty-six exactly. I don’t feel like it, luckily. I am always nineteen in my heart, which is the most important thing, always feeling young. This last year wasn’t the best I ever had, but I don’t have much to complain about. It had its ups and downs, but I’ve made it. Things are turning to the best eventually, regardless of how shitty they’ve got. I am going through some moments right now, and based on how life goes, with every year, the birthday day becomes less and less important and less exciting. However, it is important for a couple of reasons. One is to reflect on your life and see where you’ve been and where you are going next. Also, it is a good way to start things from scratch, leave all the past bullshit behind you, and focus on building a new life. It’s kind of like New Year’s resolutions, you know what I mean? So, in my honor today, and so you have something to read and raise your IQs, I compiled a list of thirty-six random quotes which were relevant to me this last year from random people who said something smart once. These quotes are both inspirational, meaningful, and funny. I am not referencing the sources because it is too many, I don’t have time for it, and I don’t give a fuck. Some of these quotes are my own, but most are from other people, mostly famous. Happy birthday to me, and you, if you were ever lucky to be born on the same day and until the next one. Cheers, motherfuckers!
1. Once in a lifetime, never again 2. Good things are fucking coming 3. Mondays are awesome. It’s your job that sucks 4. Life’s too short to wait for retirement 5. If you going to do it, go all the way 6. Fuck ‘em! 7. We should not forget our beginner spirit 8. Life’s too short to drink cheap wine 9. We are the people who can have breakfast at any time 10. Life ain’t no sunshine and rainbows 11. You only go around once 12. Enjoy the ride 13. You can’t always get what you want, but if you try, sometimes you’ll get what you need 14. Desperate times call for desperate measures 15. If momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy 16. All those things that weren’t supposed to happen happened. What happens next is up to you 17. Discipline is what you hate to do, but do it as you love it 18. The dream is to die young, as late as possible 19. You are always one decision away from a totally different life 20. Survival has its costs 21. Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees 22. No, no, I don’t want to die. I want to live for the second time 23. The best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them 24. A man can be destroyed but not defeated. If he’s still standing, he can fight 25. Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it 26. Success is a journey, not a destination 27. Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working 28. Twenty years from now, you’ll be more disappointed by the things you did not do than the ones you did 29. There are only two things wrong with money: too much or too little. And there I was, down at the ‘too little’ stage again 30. My heroes are dead, my ambition is quite awake, I don’t believe in tragedy anymore, I believe in mystery 31. Love life, people, you only get it once 32. The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for the cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one 33. It’s thrilling not to know where you’re going 34. Your life is your life, don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission 35. Lighting new cigarettes, pouring more drinks. It has been a beautiful fight. Still is 36. …and the dance continues – so, it does…
I don’t know what I don’t know, but I do know something. It is hard to tell if I am wrong or right most of the time, but I have a logic to my madness. I don’t even know where all the madness comes from, but it is there. It is near. I can feel it. I can see it. I am it in a way. We are all crazy in one way or the other, and this is how this world works, and this is how this life works. It makes us all fucking crazy, you know it or not. The chaos can drive people crazy as much as too much discipline. We all try to bounce left or right or up and down to keep our balance, but it is not always easy. It is never easy. Nothing is easy, and nothing is free. Somebody has to pay for your lunch. We have the wisdom there is. We have philosophers, writers, and so many smart people to guide us, but we rarely listen. We’d rather make our own mistakes and learn from them, hopefully. What is the recipe for a happy life? Who knows? Everybody’s life is different, and everybody should take their own path. Still, somehow we all wind up in the same pile of shit, madness, confusion, misery, depression, desperation, and so on. And then we are trying to get out, realizing what has happened to us. We are stumping on each other, pushing each other out of our way, making our way out, and then falling deep down into an even bigger pile of shit. That is life. It is crazy. It is chaotic, and we have to find our way, our path, our love, our madness, and some cigarettes and wine to make it a smooth ride home.
I’ve been going crazy for a very long time now. It is not just one thing that derailed me. There are plenty. Like losing a job. Losing the only income for the family. Not being able to provide anymore while relying on governments support. Losing people around me, losing friends, losing my mind and soul, to what? There was nothing to make me happy and nothing satisfied. All those books, meditations, warm summer weather, and the birds in the sky, nothing mattered. I always knew one truth. And the truth is that nothing will remain the same. Things will change. Things will turn around, and I will be a different man living a different life, a better life. I never knew when that moment would come, but I knew it would, sooner or later. And it fucking did. I never realized how much I was sucked into the system, the same system that was eating me alive, feeding me bullshit, and sucking me in deeper and deeper each day. Now that I have been out of it for a long time, I know that I didn’t matter, the system didn’t matter, the bullshit didn’t matter, and that you could live without all that shit. I couldn’t see clearly then. But now I do.
The dark clouds obscuring my vision have vanished, and the sun came up over my head, and while it was blinding me during the daylight, I could see like never before. My senses came back, the smile on the blank face reemerged, the meaning of life returned, or at least the feeling of one came back to me to help me get out of that hole. Today is a new day. It is a better day for many reasons. The main reason is that I am still alive and kicking. The other reason is that I have something to live up to and go after, and the realization that the writer inside of me was still there. He was scared, shy, not interested, and not willing to be present when I needed him, but he was back, and so was I. Also, my closest people are still with me, which means they are real, they are true, and they are my people. It means that life is worth living for.
And just like that, there goes another cold drink and another pack of cigarettes. This is all meant to help me get the fuck out of my head, take it easy, forget, ignore, procrastinate. Was it helping? Fuck if I know. Rather distracting. But that is the only way I know how to deal with tough shit in life. Countless bottles of alcohol and cigarettes and so many dark, long nights and dark, sad thoughts about my future and miserable present, and I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel as of recently. I think I do. There isn’t much of light, but it beats darkness, as Bukowski said long ago. That is a perfect poem and a perfect line. I wish I read it sooner. I wish I had understood so many things sooner; I wouldn’t have to be in the same dark hole. I guess we all learn a few things about life a little too late after the fact. I think this is how life works for most people. Definitely for me. I have to burn myself, sometimes multiple times, to learn my lessons and clearly see what is what and who is who.
I am not a bad man, but I am a sad man. I am sad most of the time, and there is sadness in anything I see, good or bad. It is all around me. I am sad about the present because there is always too much shit to deal with and battle through. I am sad about the future because I can see none. All I can see is the darkness and nothing. I am sad about my three years old son, who was lucky to be born here in this country, but the future, just in general, is not promising anything good long-term. Somehow, as optimistic as I am, I try to stay true to myself and real and cold-headed, which leads me into darkness and sadness. Fuckness. Things just seemed so smooth and easy and fun when I was younger. Somehow, when you become an adult, and I think this is part of becoming an adult, is that you see things from a more realistic and also consider all the obstacles and dangers; you know that this world is just full of shit and madness. I don’t require much. I am not a selfish and delusional asshole; I know exactly what and how much I want in this life. The bare minimum, like a quiet and free life by the beach, worryless. I want to live my life, do my thing, and never worry about any bills to pay or economic crisis, recessions, crazy politicians, climate change, cancer, traffic, jobs, and misery of it all. I just want to live for a moment and be able to enjoy it fully. Is it that much to ask for?
The romance of the youth is a disaster plan for an adult. It takes time to realize those things. It takes time, casualties, years, broken hearts, hundreds of cigarettes, and gallons of liquor to figure it all out. There is no easy way to learn it otherwise. Nothing is meant to be easy. You and I had to face the real issues face to face and stay strong in our beliefs and push our way out of the bullshit and into a better life if we only could. Things that seemed so glorious and great at one point in time don’t seem so great all the time. Later on, many of those great things seem like a bunch of dumb ideas.
We change. Our thoughts and beliefs change. Our jobs change. Our life changes, and so do the stock market indexes and the weather and all those things. And who knows the real truth of it all? Who knows the right path anymore? I don’t. Maybe it is better not to know. Maybe living in constant expectation of a surprise or a disaster is the way to go. That is a good question to ask and look for an answer years from now. Time will tell. Time never sleeps, never rests, and doesn’t give a shit about you and me and our problems and issues. It always keeps moving. We should always keep moving. Movement is life. Life requires some basic movement. It’s that simple.
Grey morning instead of a great morning Friday is the best day of the week When you know, the bullshit will be over after today, and you Can live your life again, just like you always wanted. There will be no jobs, no work shit, and no bullshit to deal with It will be you and your family and your life for a moment. Men spend their lifetime building a career, Climbing the stairway to corporate hell Six-figure salaries, bonuses, And the best benefits you can find around. Nothing is too few. Nothing is enough. The hunger for more blinds you. It is all there is on this fruit tray with poison. This is your poison pill. Once taken twice shy. Take your chance to free yourself. Half of what you make goes to the Uncle, Another half would cover the debt. What’s left for you? After those never-ending jobs? What is left of you, and your soul When you sit all alone in a dark room. You need the job to feed yourself. Then the job starts eating you alive, like a fucking snack, Like a drive-thru burrito. You become the product, and you become the food. You become a slave of modern society. All you ever want is to live a normal life. A working-class hero is no better than an Working-class slave. What’s the difference? There is none. None of you can make a choice Not to have a job, not to work for somebody. A man is a man when he is still a man. The job is the job until it starts eating into man’s soul. And then it becomes torture. The man is more of a man when he refuses to enslave himself For meaningless jobs that take away his life. A man is a man when a man can fight to survive. The working-class heroes are always busy these days.
My shit’s out of luck yet again As I pour down the cold Heineken down my Poor sorry-ass throat. The wents are turning right above the yellow light bulbs At the local bar where I drink. They don’t give a fuck that I am down on my luck They don’t give a fuck either way All they had to do is to keep spinning Running the alcohol-infused air around. There are TV sets all around the bar, but they Show and tell you nothing They are a distraction from real life. There is loud music playing in the bar Making the cold beer go down smoothly. My shit’s been out of luck My life’s been out of luck I guess this is what it is, and everything Is fucked. The end of one thing is just the new beginning The old life ends following a new one I am down on my luck as there hasn’t been much And I pour another beer down I’ve been down this road before And the present does repeat my past I will be out of this shit in no time I think I’ll just have to do my best. Cheers to all of you poor shmucks Who feel just like I do today Remember, there will be sunshine On our street some day. As the wind blew the fallen leaves down the street My six-figure salary was blown away Just like that.
Sometimes, we all wish to go back in time and relive certain moments. I yearn to experience the rush and thrill of my younger days, even though they weren’t necessarily the best days of my life. I’m not interested in returning to that time because it has been difficult, but instead, revisiting how I saw the world then, the places I frequented, the people I used to know, and all the things I did or didn’t do. I want to understand how I managed to get through that difficult period in my life while searching for who I am. I want to experience those sparks of hope that ignited me back when I struggled mentally and professionally. I long to regain my beginner’s mindset in my mid-late twenties and see the world with fresh eyes once again.
I discovered something new about myself back then in 2016. 2017 continued in the spirit of an inspired writer who didn’t write much, but there was so much inspiration in me that I didn’t know what to do with it. I was overwhelmed by it, in a way. I loved being overwhelmed with all those new experiences and thoughts that occupied my mind. I was an inspired young writer then; I wrote a little at the time, mostly poetry. I wrote it on my phone often, as it came to me while smoking a cigarette in the parking lot. I felt great, cool, and one of a kind, seeing myself as a poet. Nothing of this sort had ever happened to me before. The list of poems grew over time. My reading list grew over time. I wanted to be like Charles Bukowski, my writing hero. That depraved old man inspired my young confused mind so much that after reading just a few of his poems, I knew that this was what I wanted to do. I looked around at things, people, and events around me, and poetry lines were composed inside my head. Some of them I captured, and many of them were lost somewhere deep inside my mind and down the history lane. What I got then was something I couldn’t even imagine doing before. I, a nobody, a confused dumb kid, could become a writer and a poet. That felt really novel and fucking great. That was a pivotal point in my life, one of the few that laid the ground for my writing for years.
I remember how and when I wrote my first poetry. I was on my bed in my mom’s house, in my room, with my MacBook Pro laptop. It was a lame and pretentious poem, but it was the first one, and many more followed shortly after. You can’t be judging that shit too hard. It gave me something to work with and to work for and eventually launched me as a writer. Everything great once started as nothing, many times as a mistake, and many times as an accident. This was one of the most remarkable accidents that ever happened to me. Still, I haven’t recovered. I like it this way. I want to write. Writing helped me over the years while dealing with life and its pitfalls. Jobs failed me, and I failed jobs; relationships failed me, and I failed relationships; people, in general, failed me and failed many people in my life, but I’ve learned my lessons, and I continued to write throughout all that time. Writing became my own very effective therapy. I woke up early in the morning, pulled out my laptop, and started to write. I often did not know what I would write about, but somehow ideas came, words formed, words turned into sentences, and sentences turned into pages of written material. Somehow I ended up with over two hundred poems and a handful of prose material, and I had to do something about it. And I did.
I revisited all the poems I ever wrote and collected them into my first poetry collection, “My Poems My Soul.” I came up with the name based on a poem with the same title. It sounded very poetic to me. It sounded like something Bukowski would have written or named one of his poems. I wasn’t trying to imitate Bukowski or copy his style, but so much of his influence poured out of me and into my writing that I couldn’t help it. I heard Bukowski’s voice in my head as I was writing my poems. It felt unusual. I felt like Bukowski a lot of times. I was reading his poetry and listening to his novels and short stories on Audible, fueling my creative mind and soul. Little did I know then that all that fascination would result in me publishing my own books years later. I self-published “My Poems My Soul” in 2020 during the pandemic. My second collection of mostly short stories and some new poems, called “Nicetown,” came out in late 2022. Today I am a real writer, not just some wannabe romantic with a temporary inspiration, but an actual published writer with a good amount of my work in the literary world. I also created a blog where my original writing experiments were posted. That blog helped me stay in shape and continue my regular writing routine. I knew I did that primarily for myself, and if other people find that interesting, that would be even better. But it all was done for a selfish me to keep me at work, keep me writing, writing, and posting regularly. This is why I stayed more productive over the last three-four years. This is how “Nicetown” book came up to be. This was a collection of all that blog writing, primarily short stories and some better poems I published since I created my blog in late October 2019.
Getting one thing started randomly on my bed with my laptop eventually launched me to become who I am today. I am not famous but rather very much infamous. Fame is great, but I the lack of it doesn’t bother me much. I haven’t achieved any accomplishments or recognition, my books don’t sell, and nobody but a handful of people in my circle know that I write. But that is ok. I have patience. I still think that the best is yet to come. I have yet to publish something that would eventually resonate with the general public and get my name out there. I am not an attention whore, but let’s face it, all writers are and want to be one and are continuously searching for and hoping for all the attention they can get. Most writers are egoistic, self-centered, and self-indulging assholes; all that writing is not there for no reason. We all want to be famous, great, and beloved, and we all want people to admire us, praise our books, recite our words, make movies based on our books, give us prizes, kiss our assess, and make us invincible and untouchable and superior in that fashion.
I don’t know what I want to do next in my life, hanging here, staying on the edge of the cliff, at the crossroads, or whatever the fuck I am today. I know one thing for sure, I will continue to write, even if that is just for myself, even if nobody in the world will ever see or read anything I wrote. I remember how excited and obsessed I was with the Californication show, watching it for the first time back in 2016. Based on the image of my beloved Charles Bukowski, the main character, Hank Moody, was a great visual of a modern writer with some complicated behavior and dealing with his struggles, but mainly inspiring me even more to write. I saw a writer who wasn’t a fucking bore. Hank Moody was a real man, a great writer, and he hated all that fame shit and the consequences of it, which continued to follow him throughout the show. That show was so great, funny, witty, and personal to me that even today, in 2023, I am still watching it on repeat, getting entertained, getting a good laugh, and learning something new each time. It is still, in many ways, a highly relatable show in both the writing and social world we live in today.
I discovered that show when I was going through the worse times in my life, mentally and professionally. I found my great escape in that show. It was not just entertaining but also a great escape from the brutal reality I was living in. It felt like the stars aligned for me back then in 2016, and everything I got my hands on, watched, listened to, or read let me into this new life, a life of a writer, the unlimited, crazy world of literature with all its complications and struggles. I can’t remember another time when all the puzzle pieces fell together for me and showed me a new life, a new perspective, and a world I hadn’t seen before. I am grateful to destiny, whoever it is, and a stupid random accident or sequence of events that got me writing. I am happy where I am and looking forward to a better future. The longer I stayed in this writing world, the more great things happened for me, the more I could do and create and write, and this new universe kept building up and around me. I am happy in this place. The real writing will stay. Real writing will live forever.
Every road leads somewhere, Even if you are going with no directions. There will be stops, and turns, and exits, But the road always goes on As long as you are. You should follow your destination. Even if you don’t have one Something will come along and You will see the signs. You will feel them, You will see the light eventually. There is a long road ahead of you As you barely started this trip On this never-ending highway. Life is always rough. It should be. This is how you grow. This is how you learn. This is how you develop. This is how you move forward. This is what will keep you going. This is what will make you go Following the road, Following the path, And eventually finding yours. There will be traffic on your way, Exits, bridges, and dead ends. But you will have to find your way out. You might get lost sometimes, But if you keep searching You will find and reach your destination. You will find where you belong in this life.
The sun is up and shinning, It is shinning in your face Making you feel happy, helping you see better. It could also blind you, too, preventing you from seeing Your path clearly. You always got to keep moving forward. Until you can Until there is no life in you left, no energy And passion for something. Even if you don’t know what it is Things eventually will turn around. Things will come about. Solutions will present themselves eventually. You just got to keep on moving, keep going, Keep following your path, Keep following your road to the unknown. Go straight ahead and never look back. The past is behind you. The past will not help you build your present. The past will not help you build your future. You are building your future today, right now. For a better tomorrow, Or worst, depending on what you do. You just got to keep going, Keep going. There will be many destinations on your way. There will be many obstacles in your way. You have to be mindful. You have to be careful. Enjoy the ride.
It rains outside this early grey morning, And Ludwig van Beethoven is playing for me and nobody else. I read in the newspaper today about the cause of his death from The latest study which revealed that he died of Cirrhosis of the liver and hepatitis B From too much drinking. Poor Ludwig, the genius, one of the major composers Died completely deaf, shitting his pants with his liver falling on him At age 56, some 196 years ago. Well, this is interesting and sad news at the same time. All creative people are doomed people All creative people are suffering people All creative people have demons inside them All creative people are fighting the darkness With substances while creating the art To be lived for centuries or forever. He could’ve been a regular family man, Working a merchant job somewhere in Vienna, Raising a family and eating dinner with them every evening Going to work and paying his bills on time. That wasn’t an option for him, though. He was too big for that. He sure was something larger than The average working guy trying to survive. He created some of the best immortal music For all of us to enjoy, and humanity will cherish that music forever While poor Ludwig suffered miserably for his craft, Fighting his demons and eventually losing The fight of all fights.
While Beethoven was on his deathbed, somebody snipped a lock of his hair. The lock of his hair with today’s modern technology Helped scientists figure out the cause of this death. The analysis of his DNA told all the secrets, And more. Poor Ludvig, you can rest in peace now, Your music lives on and still brings the highest Quality of anything ever created. That fucking lock of hair exposed you as an alcoholic What the fuck do these kids know about the Life of a genius from two hundred years ago? By the way, they still don’t know what caused his early hearing loss Or his gastrointestinal issues. And also, somebody way back then in that family tree Has been unfaithful, as the research suggests. That fucking Y chromosome knows best.
It was about two o’clock in the afternoon when he hit the local bar. This was not his usual schedule. He rarely drank in bars lately at all. He liked the privacy of drinking at home, and with that, once his kid and wife were asleep. That way, it was more peaceful and private around the house, and he knew that nothing and nobody would disturb his time alone with a drink.
It was the second day of March, and it felt that way. There was nobody at the bar when he came in. Four tall windows showed the small town’s street with people walking and cars driving by. He was at the local hipster bar on the opposite side of that street. Bar made more sense than anything else.
The bar was lit mainly by the daylight coming from the multiple windows. About six fans were mounted to the top of the toll ceiling, spinning mid-tempo, running the air in the old English-style building. Underneath the spinners were plain mid-size lamps with yellow lights. They did not add much to the bar’s overall situation, as it was still bright daylight outside. These lamps with fans would give somebody a spinning head once drunk and staring at them for too long. Several small private tables were scattered around the bar near the entrance and some against the walls. In case somebody did not want to sit around the square-shaped bar with a bunch of strangers and their looks and possibly get into unwanted conversations with them, these tables were the place. Bar is where if you drink for too long, you might acquire a few new friends, want it or not.
He was on his second Heineken now, looking around, his face serious with his thoughts. The bartender was a young hipster girl with short spiked hair, piercing on her face, and tattoos on both arms, one with a full sleeve. She was of unidentifiable age, but her face looked young, especially when she smiled. Kids, these days, looked so strange and confusing, he thought. She might have been anywhere near twenty-one and up to thirty-five. Who knows? She wore a bar uniform of black pants and a black short-sleeved shirt. She never introduced herself to him, and he didn’t bother to find out her name either, as long as beers kept coming without much wait.
“Want another Heineken?” the bartender asked. “Sure, thanks.” He would answer. That was the entire conversation he had at the bar all day.
He had a lot to process. A lot of things were on his mind these days. Once in a while, life brings these fucking problems, and there is no better place to go but a local bar to clear your head. He expected the bad news, but the timing was wrong. He knew everything would eventually come down to this but not this kind of suddenly. Not today?! Well, it was in the past now, and the future was still cloudy and obscure with anger, frustration, and general misery. I mean, he tried his best. He had to. There was a house, a child, and his family to care for. Want it or not, somebody had to hustle. It wasn’t always this bad, but somehow with time, things worsened, and he knew for a while that this day would eventually come. He was trying to keep his livelihood going for as long as possible. He loved to live a worryless life and not worry about the next paycheck or bill coming or how much groceries cost these days.
It was still daylight, and some new visitors entered the bar. A middle-aged lady was drinking her white wine and addictively scrolling through her phone screen. A hipster guy was sitting in the opposite corner, drinking who knew what. He couldn’t see him well because of the bar stand in the middle, but he could hear him well. He was having a friendly chat with the bartending girl. They seemed to know each other. Maybe he was a regular? They may have grown up in this neighborhood. Maybe he was there to make some moves on that girl with tattooed arms and face piercing with spiked hair?
He felt like smoking a cigarette. There was no smoking inside the bar. Not in this bar. Not in this neighborhood. There were almost no bars left where you could still smoke inside. You had to take it outdoors. He put on his leather jacket and strolled towards the entrance. He hasn’t paid for the beers yet, but that seems not to be a problem for anybody here. Each bar has its own rules. It wasn’t necessary here. If the bartender stopped him, he would tell her he would be back after smoking. The bartender girl was mainly involved in a conversation with a hipster guy most of the time. Nobody even noticed that he had walked out.
The air outside was fresh, and the street was tiny. The sidewalk was narrow. There was barely a place for two people to walk by one another on those tiny sidewalks. He lit his cigarette and exhaled the smoke in the suburban air. The cars lined up on the street at the red traffic light. He was trying to ignore everything and everyone around him. He knew these people were staring, and he caught a few of those looking at him as he smoked, then turning their heads around back to the street traffic once their eyes met. Did they all know what happened? Why did he get this feeling as they did? Are these their mocking looks? Or are those more sympathetic looks people in the cars gave him? Don’t worry about these cars and these people and the traffic. Don’t worry about the beer you are drinking today. You needed that beer for a long time. You deserved it. You didn’t deserve what happened to you today, for sure. Very few people deserve that. Not you. You did well. You were working hard every time and every day. You are a good man. You are a good man. You are the last good man on the planet Earth. You are a better man than anybody in these cars staring at you right now. You are better than anybody at this bar. Hell, you are even better than that Heineken you are drinking. The whole thing was just unfair. Life is always unfair. Somehow, after the highs always comes to the lows. Life has its balance.
Other pedestrians were walking around randomly on this and the other side of the street. They had their own business to do and places to go. They all looked like they had a plan. I don’t have any plans. I don’t even want any plans for the next few days. I am just a bit overwhelmed with life at the moment. Beer is helping, and so does the cigarette. But hell, it takes time to heal. There will be tonight, and then there will be tomorrow, and then there will be the next week and the next month, and the next year. Things will be much different a year from now. Life will be much different a year from now. It all could be so much better a year from now. There are certainly some great mysteries in the future for all of us.
People walking around did not look specifically weird except for a guy wearing a cowboy head and some cowboy outfit and the teenage girl with purple hair. In a hipster neighborhood like that, there are usually more strange people per capita, and they all somehow had to be on the street doing nothing but walking around, going about their business. There were no more blondes and brunettes, as most of the kids these days had their hair in a color of a rainbow. All had some weird piercings and hairstyles and lots of fucking tattoos. They were just some random strangers who he would never see again in his life. So, why bother? Please don’t stare at them. It’s their own thing. Why does it bother you? Don’t you have more important things to worry about? Yes, you do, yes you do. I don’t mind anybody. I don’t care. I am trying to distract my thoughts with something else and just trying to refresh my mind by looking around, smoking a cigarette, and wondering. I like to wonder. Nothing specific. I mean, sometimes you have to live. There is no need to overthink anything. There is no need to worry about anything until something terrible happens. And even if something terrible happened, you can still think of something good. You can still change your mindset. You have to try it sometimes. You can always change your life.
The cigarette was burning to the end, and he threw it out with his last long drag. He turned around, exhaling the cloud of smoke into the air, and grasping the entrance door handle, he walked back into the bar. Something changed inside of him. He felt better inside. He felt like he belonged there. He felt like he had returned home. A home, that only place where we all, no matter how fucked up, feel safe, warm, wanted, and all the troubles go away at home.
He ordered another beer and a shot of whiskey. Let’s speed up the recovery, he thought. The whiskey shot went down smoothly. It felt liberating. Sometimes people must fill themselves up with rough shit to feel better later. It helped. Beer chased it all down well, and the feeling of easiness overcame him. His problems didn’t seem to bother him anymore. The lamps with spinning fans on the ceiling looked good. The random pedestrians walking by looked better. It is what it is, he thought. It’s true what they say; the end of one thing is the beginning of something new. New life was about to start. It’s not dark yet. It’s too soon to feel that way. Life always comes at you in waves. Things change with time. Time changes who you are, and sometimes even you have to change at the end.
“You want another one?” The bartender asked. “Sure, thank you.”
She brought a new beer in about a few seconds, perfect service. He smiled and thanked her again after seeing the new cold beer on the bar top. There was this beer, and there were a few more. Then it was time to go home. It was getting late. He was getting lit. He had to drive home regardless. He had to be careful. Who needs more trouble in one day?
He paid his tab and put on his leather jacket. He went to the bathroom. The bathroom was a narrow room with a high ceiling and black and red walls. He washed his hands and looked at himself in the mirror. He was still there. He looked more serious and sad than usual, but it was him in that mirror. The man who just parted with his past and will be moving into his new life right after he leaves this bar. It’s going to be ok, he thought. You’ve had enough for one day. You did what you could. It was time to move on anyway. He knew it. He knew it all along.
He walked out of the bar and onto the tiny street. It was getting darker now and felt a bit colder too. He pulled out a new cigarette and lit it. He strolled towards his car, smoking his cigarette, not thinking about anything anymore. The wind blew a bit harder as he turned the corner of the street. Trees moved their naked branches, and the dead leaves from the last Fall along with his six-figure salary, were blown away just like that. He didn’t pay much attention to the wind, leaves, or anything. He just wanted to go home to his wife and son. Tomorrow will be another day. Tomorrow will be a new future – the future which we all always anticipate so much but also are so afraid of at the same time. He started his car. The twenty-year-old engine roared cold and tired. The white exhaust clouds came out of the muffler polluting the cold suburban evening air. He pulled out of the parking space, onto the street, and into his new life.
It has been some time since I sat down to write something new. Life’s been busy, you know? Life happens as we speak. One thing that changes as you grow older and become a family man is that time becomes more of an essence, is always short and passes by quickly. Back in my youth, I noticed time passing slowly. I always waited for things to happen; they couldn’t happen fast enough. Things have changed since then. I have changed since then. Once a careless lad with nothing to worry about but going to school, getting passing grades, and then making some money on the side from my never-ending restaurant job and now I have adult responsibilities like going to work every day, contributing to my 401K plan, feeding my family, raising a son, and making timely mortgage payments and so on. There is no time to smell the roses. There is no time to get a proper amount of sleep. There is no time to rest on the couch with a beer in my hand and a movie to watch for the evening. There is almost no or minimal time for writing. Where did all the youth go? Where are all the friends now who were so much around? Where is that warm sunshine of the good old young days that blinded us back in the day with its light and made us act on the impulse and live for the moment? Fuck if I know.
It’s warmer now outside. Mid-February feels like mid-April, and that makes me feel better. Winter depression seems to evaporate as the early warm sunshine fills the day with its presence, fooling us into believing that Spring is here. I wish this would be the case. The days are getting longer now, and there is more sunshine than I ever remember during winter. The temperatures are up across the country, and global warming doesn’t seem like a problem to most. This early warm weather makes me feel young again. I reminisce about the days of my youth when things just started to happen to me. All those things I did, and some I still do, made me the person I am today. I love to go back down memory lane, thinking about how it was. I never knew where I would end up in a few years, not even a few days from now. I enjoyed most of it. I knew that this was me exploring the world, getting my hands on and my thoughts about adult life, trying to become part of society, trying to become a grownup, trying to write my first lame poetry.
I got a few calls from different people I knew in the past since the new year began. We were all, in one way or another, close back in the day and had some shared history we lived through together. Each of those three represents a certain point in my past life, and it was interesting to go back in time in my head and recall the events from the past. I remembered how I felt about things and people back then, what was on my mind back then, what issues I had to deal with, and how I felt. And mainly, the most exciting thing was that I felt like I did back when I was young, and I just faced life straight and was trying to figure it all out.
Somebody from the past, whom I hadn’t seen or heard about in fifteen years, resurfaced in my life and reached out to me, and we chatted. It seemed that time was standing still between us all those years. I was happy to reconnect and revisit where we left off. Some people never change, whether good or bad. This person did not fucking changed at all, and I went straight back down the time capsule, and it felt great. We talked about the friends we knew and hung out with back in the day. Most of them are not friends anymore. There are reasons we do not hate each other; we just took different paths in life. If I met some of those friends today, we’d have smiles and laughs, and it would be cool to see one another. I was surprised to get these kinds of calls anymore. I was surprised that after so many years with no contact, somebody decided to reach out to me and was interested in reconnecting and meeting up again. I rarely get any calls from people I still am close friends with. But once somebody reaches out to me from fifteen years ago, it makes me wonder. It makes me feel happy in a way. Since we all grew up and became adults, most of us with families now and busy daily lives. Many things we used to do, and many people we used to hang out with, dropped off from our lives. It usually happens that way if there is no reason to or if there are no circumstances that keep us together; those relationships disappear with time. The more I think about the past, about my past life, the more I am convinced that regardless of how tough and uneventful it seemed to me back then, looking back, it was a great fucking life.
Music was always in my life. Music, just like the scent, has this incredible ability to bring back our memories. I often go back to listening to music I loved listening to in the past. I think of something from the past, and then I pull the album or a playlist or a song and play it. I play the shit out of it while I think and reminisce. I often go back to the older recordings or albums and revisit them repeatedly. A lot of time, I find something new to me that I haven’t noticed before. There is something closely relatable in the lyric, or there is a chord progression or a sound that I missed when listening to this song earlier, but now I cannot help but focus on that and think about it more and how it resonated with me and how it all makes me feel today.
It feels good to look back at my early struggles, whatever they were back then, and how things changed and I overcame all of that shit, and I am still around, with a wine glass in my hand, with a family in my house, and with two self-published books out there in the world. No struggles are permanent, and nothing will last forever. Shitty ones always follow happy moments, and they exchange one another repeatedly. I have noticed that during my shittiest moments, usually because of my workplace, my creative juices flowed like a fucking Niagara Falls. I wasn’t even thinking about any creative ideas as I so them everywhere around me. I thought about writing them down, writing my stories, my poems, and even thinking about my yet-to-be novel, but most of it just stayed in my mind then. I want to capture all of them somewhere in the box and use them as needed later. I knew that my job was shit, my boss was an asshole, my coworkers were not as nice as they pretended to be, and neither did they give any fucks about me, my life, and my career. I knew I didn’t belong there. I still don’t relate to most people or belong to organizations, and jobs, making me a weirdo and a more authentic individual. At this point in my life, I am very familiar with myself as a person, who I am, what I do, what I want, what I like, and where I want to be, and that is all that matters. I no longer depend on or give a shit about others’ opinions as I know I am not living my life for anybody but me. And I am going to make it worthwhile.
Sitting here today makes me wonder what the future is going to bring. Will the future be kind to me? How much more shit do I have to go through before I feel complete and fully satisfied? Am I on the right path? What the fuck is the right path anyway? The only way to find out is to live it and see it. Nothing will happen unless I take action. Tomorrow will be here regardless of whether I will be here. Tomorrow will depend on my decisions from today and from before. I am in charge of my tomorrow, and you are in charge of yours. I wish this early Spring weather stays here until the summer, but I know that the fucking winter is not done yet with us. There is always a proper time for everything. The day is always followed by night. Nature has its balance. Nature has its laws. It’s us who don’t have any of it or don’t follow any of the rules, and a lot of time, common sense, and we are all running around and freaking out about every little stupid shit. But while we are here today, we can all enjoy the incredible beauty of nature and the sunshine above our heads. It is a perfect time to capture and enjoy these pleasant brief moments of our lives and the early Spring and be young at heart as we once were.
Success tastes like great fucking champagne. Not the local bullshit But something foreign, Something that is from far away, and Something that tastes like nothing special Until you know the price per bottle, Then you appreciate it. You sip it, sip by sip and The feeling of the chilled bobbles in your throat Registered in your mind for a moment And then the dry finish aftertaste, which tastes like an ass, but it’s an Expensive big ass success that you’ve achieved Through all these years of hard work. Nothing will ever taste like this anymore. It is like popping the cherry, Not the most pleasant but one of the most memorable events. Your crisp white dress shirt pressed against your body, The body of the successful man With a bright chest, breathing smoothly With a smirk on your face With a fire in your eyes That burns fucking everything around. Everything that you look at And everyone is just mesmerized. You drink more, and then you smoke with pleasure, As the music of success is playing in the background. It is your favorite band with your favorite song And that is all you want to hear at the moment. Fuck all those side-noizes, Meaningless sounds of destruction. Your mind is drowning in the booze And you just don’t give a fuck Like a true winner, like a true champ. You’ve made it. You are a successful man. And you should be proud of it.
Life goes. It goes down and up and sideways. But it always keeps moving all the time. And then, the next minute, you realize that you’ve grown old, and the person in the mirror is somebody else. You still feel young and think you are a young and careless lad, but you are an adult now. This happens in life. Life happens. And honestly, it is good to get older and to look older because you got a chance to be here for a while. It is unfortunate to see someone young go into eternity before their time. The fact that you and I have a chance to wake up every morning to live our lives and do our things no matter how dull is a gift. It is a gift that not everyone appreciates or even stops to think about. But we should. We all should just stop the crazy nonsense of the day and think about ourselves, who we are, what we’ve become, what we are doing, and how we spend our limited time here on Earth.
I always thought that I lived the most boring and uneventful life. The life that doesn’t even have too many stories to talk about. I never had anything out of the ordinary happening to me. I have never been to many exciting places or done too many great things. I have nothing to brag about. Sure, after thirty-five years of living, anybody has something to say. Anybody has seen or done something interesting at some point in their lives. It may not be the experience that wows too many people, but it is our life story. I spend the holiday time off reminiscing about the good old days. The young and formative days when my hair was down to my shoulders, the ear piercing, or even before that time, the days when I looked as I would today call a child, but then I thought I was the shit. These are some great memories. Watching all those pictures of young myself with my friends doing things back in the day was a great experience and much-needed time to analyze and go over the past to see where I came from.
I remember how everything felt like for the first time. The first time not spend the night at home. The first job. The first paycheck. The first love. The first sex. The first car. The first fight. The first major disappointment. The happy days and the sad ones. The best friends and the worst friends. Hanging out until late at night, getting drunk, getting yourself into trouble, getting yourself out of trouble. There’s just so much that we go through in life, and there is also so much to learn from. But whatever you did back then, good or bad, made you who you are today. I don’t think I would ever want to go back in time and fix my shit. I don’t think that would help nobody. That would change history, my life, and who I have become.
I remember my circle of friends back then in my young days. Very few of those friends remained good friends today. At one point, we lived together, did things together, and had ordinary day-to-day life and the same problems. Now, as we all grow up and are adults, things are very different. We have wives, children, mortgages, jobs, and our problems are real and serious now. There is no time to have a beer on a random day just because there is nothing else to do. There is no time to hang out late into the night, smoking cigarettes and telling chokes and stories. The saddest part is seeing the pictures of your friend who is no longer alive. Who would ever think of that back then? We all thought we would live together into old age. I remember when I was young, that time was never a concern or issue. The only problem with time was the wait. I always waited for something to happen. Waiting until I am old enough to drive a car, old enough to get a job, old enough to buy a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of booze. Waiting until I am rich enough to continue to live this worryless life and have fun all the time. Looking at those pictures made me sad. It brought a lot of great memories. I felt the same as I used to back then for a brief moment. The power of the past. It was hard to find any serious pictures of us. We always did something fun. We always smiled, laughed, made faces, and made funny postures in those pictures. This is how I will remember that time, with a bright smile on my face. We were so alive and happy, and nothing would take this away from us but time.
Teens and twenties are a fucking worst times to live through. I don’t think I am the only one thinking that. People say you’re young and have your health, youth, and so much ahead of you. But what do you really have? Or what does an average teenager or twenty-years old really have? They have a whole bunch of shit to deal with. That’s what’s ahead of them. On the one hand, yes, it is a great time to be young and careless and have fun at your parent’s expense, but on the other, you are just drowning in the shit of life deeper with every year trying to figure out who you are, who you want to be, what is your purpose, what should you be doing with your life. I went through so much bullshit, stress, and anxiety that I would not want to return to those days to relieve myself again. Fuck that. I am happy and fortunate to have come out of it alive and kicking, and luckily for me, I’ve made some right choices in this life. I don’t have tattoos on my face, and I am not in jail or living on the street corner. That’s not true for so many others, though. Life takes time to figure out. It takes your whole life to figure this motherfucker out. You learn as long as you live. Try to explain this to a twenty-year-old.
Most of them are in school or college or a university, trying to get educated, getting a shit ton of loans to get the education which might not work out in the end. When you’re young, you have to deal with school shit, deal with or without your girlfriend or your boyfriend, deal with anxiety, stress, depression, bad habits, your classmates, your teachers, your neighbors, your shitty jobs, your shitty cheap cars, and so on. Throughout my time in college, I had no idea who I wanted to be, but I had to pick a major that I thought would work out for me well and I will be able to find a job after. Back then, a hundred dollars was a lot of money. My tunnel vision was too fucking narrow and nearsighted. I couldn’t think too far ahead or see much of anything to have a better plan. I had to eat the shit, be miserable and somehow get up and move forward. I had to switch to part-time schooling because I saw more value in working a blue-collar job at the wood factory, manufacturing fucking tables, closets, and countertops by making sixteen dollars per hour. That was a low-hanging fruit for me, and I knew I had to show up and do some work from 6:30 AM to 4 PM and punch out my card. I could only see that far ahead. I couldn’t see too far looking at my education path.
I was lucky to get my shit together and graduate from a junior college to attend a four-year school. That was a different kind of animal, much more expensive, and so much harder to study and follow the all-new rules and keep up with the schedule and assignments and exams. I remember going to bed one night, shutting down the lights, and crying. Crying as I used to back in my childhood days when my father would beat the shit out of me for something I did wrong. I was crying because I was failing the class because I couldn’t keep up with the learning material. I knew early on that I was a fuck-up, and this school wasn’t in my league and wasn’t even close to my family’s ability to pay for it. And now, with all these thousands of dollars in debt and all those efforts my mother put into me by working three jobs at a time, I was failing her and myself. I gave up on myself that night. My tears were falling like Niagara Falls, but there was no way out for me. I knew I would be miserable today, but I had to get my shit together tomorrow and make it all work.
I also had to work part-time at a restaurant on the weekends and study full-time during the week. At the restaurant, the work seemed like nothing. It was fun. It was my time off from anything else that was going on in my life. Also, we could drink alcohol at work, and pretty much all those years were full of insane hangovers and sleep deprivation mix-up with cigarette smoke. This was my twenties, people. Then all hungover and tired, I would show up to my classes on Monday after a long, tiring, and drinking weekend, trying to educate myself. Fuck, these were some crazy times. I never knew who I really wanted to be in life. I picked the major, but it all was foggy and unclear and too difficult to imagine this adult life I was preparing myself for. I remember looking at the expensive car with nicely dressed and good-looking people and thinking, damn, they’ve made it. I want to be like them one day. I want to achieve something in this life. I couldn’t even realize what life would bring for me in the next ten years and how things would turn around. I guess if you were not born into wealth, you have a very long and exhausting road ahead of you. Few people can come from total misery and break into the rich men’s world. Many people are stuck in poverty with their proletarian mindsets, and they never break through anything.
Life is also a journey, and it ends whenever it does. Nobody knows when our time will come. Nobody should know this either. We all have to make the best out of today. Live to the fullest and enjoy every little moment because we have this great opportunity to do so. And no matter how much older we’ve become, we all should feel like those youngsters in those old pictures of us, smiling, happy, and free. They might not bring back our youth, but they will remind you how it was once. Amen.
It is getting cold here in PA, and even in this early December, we all knew that winter was here to stay. At night the temperature goes as low as the early twenties, and it takes about ten minutes to warm up my nineteen-year-old Mercedes in the morning. I fucking hate this weather and these low temperatures, and I cannot stand being cold all the fucking time. Who can love this kind of weather anyway? The holiday spirit is in the air right now, and a little snow would make the magic work. But as soon as we finish celebrating New Year, I want fucking summer. I like to see the good old happy, warm, and humid days again. I want to go to the beach and get sunburned. I want a cold beer in my hand and to wear my shorts every day. My shit’s out of luck for the next three to four months. And since I’m stuck here, I will have to wait until mid-April for the nice weather to come around. Well, I have patience. I wanted to summarize this year and analyze what it has been for me, what I have done or accomplished, and what went to shit in the past year. It’s been my little tradition to write some sort of year-end reflection and set myself up for the new 2023 year of the Lord.
I don’t have too many complaints about 2022. It always could’ve been better, but I have nothing to complain about retrospectively. Whatever happened, happened, and what was lost was lost. I’ve tried my best to stay on top of my shit, but it wasn’t always easy. Nothing is easy when you’re an adult. Nothing is easy when you’re a parent. Nothing is and will be any fucking easier in the future, either. This is life, and we are here to live it. If we are no longer around, somebody else will have that privilege instead. So, it just means that I shouldn’t take anything for granted, and I should be happy to open my eyes in the morning every day and close my eyes at night, knowing that I have a chance to live another day. How I spent that time is my fucking problem. Was there anything I could do differently? Of course. We are all humans, and we love to fuck things up for ourselves and then feel sorry about that. I don’t have too many regrets in general. Maybe because I am a selfish asshole? Or maybe because I am just too fucking pumped to be who I am and to live the life that I do? One thing that keeps me going and makes me happy is that I am not stuck in one spot. I always kept on moving. The pace doesn’t matter, multi-tasking is the fucked up corporate buzzword that I fucking grown to hate, and the movement in life, as well as the movement of our bodies, means life. So I was moving around a lot, at least I’ve tried, and some things came to fruition while others didn’t. Well, will have to deal with all that shit next year. We’ll have another twelve months of surprises and bullshit.
The beginning of 2022 was rough. It was fucking cold then as well, and I have been cold and stressed out and busy at work, getting used to a new job. I landed a decent job with decent pay, and my family didn’t have shit to worry about. I think that’s a win-win. I had to struggle a lot, though, and then the stress was too overwhelming, and then the depression came in, and I had to meditate like a fucking monk to keep my head above the water. The good thing is that it worked. Meditation always does the trick. Gotta love that shit. How simple and how powerful and liberating it is! A few months into the year, I went down with a fucking flu. Flu, the one and only, the long-forgotten beautiful flu, came knocking at my door and knocked me on my ass for a couple of days. I thought that shit died when Covid came around. I was mistaken. It came back stronger than anything. I hadn’t had that kind of fever for years. It all passed. I recovered. I am strong, even when I am not. This wasn’t my time to see the other side. I had another chance. I am one lucky motherfucker.
The war in Ukraine was the most unfortunate and depressing event this year. It began in late February, and as I write this, the bombs are still flying over Ukraine like seagulls in the blue sky, destroying the infrastructure, killing innocent people, and turning that place into hell on Earth. In my earlier blog post, I have written about my feelings and thoughts about this war, so I will not rehash it here again. It tears my heart to see my homeland going through all this today after going through so much shit in its history. It was a major fucking shock, not just in my life but for people in Ukraine and worldwide. How dare these fucking russians? Who allowed them to behave like that? Who can stop these crazy fucks? Why is the world so fucking unresponsive and afraid to step in and kick their little shitty drunken asses? The everyday peace of Ukraine is being destroyed and ruined, and people have returned to the dark ages. Literally, the dark ages, because now the energy infrastructure has been impacted, and people sit in their homes without heat, electricity, and internet, just fucking waiting on another day, just fucking waiting for this shit to be over already. My dear cousin has lost his life in this fucking war. There goes another close relative death in our family and another significant loss in my personal life. I hope his and all others’ lives were not lost for nothing. I hope that Ukraine will win this war and will bloom again.
Somebody once said you couldn’t repeat the past. They were full of shit. I did repeat the past in the best way possible. Florida is my spiritual home. Since I first visited that place, I have felt completely in love with it. There are so many great memories and great trips down there that I live and breathe to return any time I can. My family went to Florida in May and stayed there for an entire month at the same place we were last year. Everything was the same, if not better. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I was living in a dream. The dream came true. I was so excited to be there again. I was so happy to go to the beach every day and enjoy the nice warm weather, walk on the whitest sand and watch the most beautiful sunsets while drinking my beer and smoking my cigarettes at the beach, thinking about life, listening to some great tunes, watching my family happy around me enjoying themselves. There is nothing better than that. These moments are worth living for. These moments are worth all the fucking money. These moments are worth twenty hours of car ride one way. These moments were so great that nothing else compares and nothing else satisfies as much.
I was happy to wake up early in the morning and start my days with my morning coffee while writing, which I kept doing every fucking day while there. The writing came down smoothly. After that, I drove to the beach for my morning run. I ran on the beach barefoot, listening to my music, the ocean’s waves and seagulls, the sun in my face, and the ocean breeze in my head. I was free and happy at once. I found my new spiritual home. I found the place where I wanted to live forever, and once there, I wouldn’t even want to go anywhere else. The place where I want my ashes to be scattered into the ocean so I can be there forever. Fuck the alligators and snakes and hurricanes. That place has so much beauty with the perfect climate, the bluest ocean, the good happy vibes, and the brightest sun ever. That fucking sun can cure cancer. That sun heals. These sunsets are unbelievable and worth watching every fucking day. They are just priceless. I am going back to Florida again next year for sure.
On the family side of the business, things have also been busy. The little one grows fast. He learns things fast as well, and looking at him now, and I wonder how smart this little fellow is for his age. I have been a moron for the most part of my life, and he’s already brilliant at three. I look forward to seeing what the future holds for him and us. I spend more time together with my son now. I always try to spend time with him no matter what, but this year, especially once I’ve settled with the new job, my wife is busy getting her education done, and we are handing out together like two great bodies. I love to see him smile and laugh and play with me. I love to see him develop and become a person. He’s already the best person I’ve ever known at three years of age. I am such a fortunate father to have a son like that.
The best thing about becoming a parent is that nothing and nobody matters as much as your child, and everything and everybody else can go fuck themselves. This is the secret power of a parent if you ever wonder how in the fuck they can handle raising their kids. They don’t give a fuck, that’s why. They have much more important things on their minds and real problems like raising new humans to worry about rather than freaking out about what other people think or say. Fuck other people. I cherish every moment I spend together with my son. I try to be there for him, play with him, and make him a happy child. I want to be his best friend. I know this will not last forever. He will grow up one day. He will change. He will not walk by me, following me around the house with every step. He will become an adult with his own problems and worries. The father figure will move down the line and maybe even stay there forever unless I do my job right.
Now about writing. I always have so much to say about writing, but my writing process could be more consistent. I have my moments where I was dedicated and focused and inspired and creative, and this shit was pouring out of me, and then I have plenty of downtime or no time for writing at all. Some days it felt like I don’t even know what the fuck to write about. But that’s the resistance. Once I am on it, I am on it, and the writing flows.
My foremost priority since late last year was to publish my second book. I had this idea in my head for about two years now, but, man, it took so much time to finally, piece by piece, get it done and be over with. The book was meant to be a collection of everything I’ve written and posted on my blog. So-called “Writer’s Blog” book. I was working on editing and rewriting a lot of material, and many changes needed to be made. I began editing early in the year and only finished by mid-November. I had to polish everything and make it shine for the book. I think I did a pretty damn good job with that. I am proud of finally getting this second book out of my system and into the literature world. I had my closure. Let that bird fly.
It was a heavy lift for me, editing everything I’ve written and published on the blog over the last three years, plus writing new stuff and regularly posting on my blog. But, at the end of the day, I did it. I fucking did it. My second self-published book “Nicetown” went for sale in the Kindle store on December fourth. The paperback is coming out soon. I need to invest in online promotion and advertising through my media channels. Who knows, maybe, this book will do something. I am hopeful. But if not, then fuck it. There is a novel in process and several other writing project ideas in my head. The hold-off is just me. I need to sit down and start working again.
I renewed my Bluehost contract and blog domain for another three years. It wasn’t fucking cheap, but I thought this fucking thing kept me writing all these years, and it was proven to be working for me. So, I will be there for at least another three years. I have also recently started my Substack page and will post all new material there. Substack seems to be the way to go. It is a new, more modern way of blogging that removes the pain in the ass of building and maintaining your own website and distributing your content. Plus, all the cool kids are there. This could be another potential to get my audience, whoever they might be. I don’t get much of anything by just running my blog. I do need to acquire some audience and write for them. I mean, I always write for myself first, but it is always better when you have a group of fans looking forward to reading your next shit. I am sure they are somewhere out there. I would’ve been willing to read some new, raw, authentic writing from a writer who doesn’t give a fuck. It is hard to find anything like that anymore these days because everyone is afraid to speak out and write open-mindedly without sugarcoating anything or being too safe, trying to appease the audience and not get canceled. A lot of people just blindly went woke. It may be about time to take a little nap for them.
As I said, this 2022 was decent, much better than the last two years, and I hope for an even better 2023. I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know what the new year will bring, but I do know that I don’t and can’t stop for anything. I must keep moving forward, work on my writing, create new content, and get some life. We only get one chance at life, so why in the fuck would I stay humble and not try new and different things? We all have to get some life before it ends. Nobody knows when that time will come around, but we all sure as fuck know that it will come eventually. There are no sequels. I need to set larger goals for myself. I mean, regardless of how shitty life can become and how busy I can get with the daily chores, I am always happy when I write. I am always satisfied when I can put out some great work. Great, in my understanding. I am not shooting for a Pulitzer Price; let me make that clear.
So, I am ready for a new fucking year. I have a little plan to go after, and I will be working my ass off. I know that the minute that clock strikes midnight on the first, the shit might go haywire. No magic happens in a new year unless we create it for ourselves. Unless we work towards getting something for ourselves and work hard to accomplish something, whatever it is. Sometimes even small victories can make your day. Sometimes even a small thing can be a major turning point. So, happy New 2023 Year! Don’t get fucked up too much. The date will change on the calendar, but all your bullshit will remain unless you decide to change something. Cheers to all of you, free people of this fair country, and let’s be kind to one another, open-minded too.
It’s been a while since I wrote anything here on my blog. I have a good reason. I’ve been busy editing and self-publishing my second book called “Nicetown.” That’s a good excuse, right? Publishing a second book is a great thing to do if you’re a writer, and it feels like a very fulfilling task. I’ve invested in this book for a very long time. The idea came to me about two years ago, and it took all that time until last week to actually publish this motherfucker. Well, it takes what it takes, and now this book will be out there in the world on the digital Amazon bookshelf for as long as Amazon will last. And I think that beast will outlive all of us.
The book I am talking about, “Nicetown,” is a collection of stories and poems, both fictional and autobiographical. These are all the stories I’ve been working on for the last five years. It is a random collection of stories I’ve written at different points in my life, mainly about my life and the shit I was going through at the time. There is a bit of a theme in that book based on my personal experiences, letting go of two jobs, driving for Uber for a living, trying to become a writer, struggling and eventually making it all work, becoming a father, and raising a family. This book covers a lot of topics and subjects. Some of them are series, and some are just random shit that I thought would be worthwhile to include in the book. There are some decent poems in this book as well. I think my poetry has improved over the years, and there is a lot of interesting and deep stuff readers might enjoy and appreciate. My first book, “My Poems, My Soul,” was a collection of early poetry. Mostly very mean and depressing poems written by a young wanna-be poet and writer, trying to write like Bukowski and suffering through everyday life, trying to find a meaning of it all. But these poems sound immature and naive in a way, even pretentious. They are essential in my writing life because this is where it all began. This is where it all happened. This is what I’ve been going through over the years, trying to fit my life into a poem. Poems in my latest book, though, are more mature and serious. I am taking it all to the next level here. I am happy about that material and am glad they got their new life in this book.
So how this book came to be? I’ve been writing and posting my stories and poems on my blog for about two years at the time, and approaching the second anniversary, I wanted to do something special. I thought about collecting and publishing everything I posted on the blog into a new book. The original name was “Writing Blog.” I started editing the material for the book, and I couldn’t get myself to finish it. There was always something in a way. It took too much time and effort. I felt fucking lazy to do it. Life got in the way. A lot of changes in my personal life indeed. So I had a plan, but I wasn’t going to follow it for some time. Eventually, in early 2022, I decided to finally get it done. It took me ten months to finish what I had planned, as usual, with multiple interruptions. Fortunately, I finished editing by late October, and this massive stone was off my chest.
There are a lot of stories based in and about Philadelphia and my life and my fictional character’s life, based in Philadelphia. I thought having this book framed around this town would be a great idea. This is my adopted hometown. I lived here for half of my life. So why the fuck not? The name Nicetown means what it sounds like it means. I decided to call this book a Nicetown sarcastically. There is a neighborhood in Philadelphia called Nicetown, and nothing is nice about it. Philadelphia is known to be a City of Brotherly Love. Based on my experience, it has anything but love. So many stories in the book are about getting lost and finding yourself. It is about making shit work, finding your purpose, finding the right way, getting lost, making a living, surviving, raising a family, struggling, and so on. At the end of the day, all the puzzles came together. The stories, the poems, the book title, and the themes inside the book all make perfect sense. They are part of me. They are part of my life. They are part of who I was and whom I became.
It all began mid-2017 when I was let go of my first job. I was lucky then, and I had a new job right after. That new job didn’t last for too long either, and I was fired for the second time in about four months. Fuck. Where do you go from here? I went to drive for Uber. Something that at one point felt scary and liberating, on the one hand, has become my curse for the next eight months and counting, on the other. I had no luck finding a new place for a while, so Uber became my primary source of income. I thought then this was my opportunity to become a writer and write all the time as much as I wanted. But this was a very short-lived feeling. The more time passed, the less money remained in my bank account, and driving for Uber was the only option to keep afloat. And after driving for fifteen hours a day, I had no fucking energy or creative juice to write anything. It all lasted for about eight months until I found a job at a company and industry which I fucking hated the most, but they needed me, and I needed the money and something to put on my resume, so it all began again. The short series of stories, “My Shit’s Out of Luck,” is all about that. There are also a lot of fiction and other stuff I’ve written over the years that are quite an interesting take on life, writing, life lessons, and searching for yourself. This book is dedicated to those who are lost and searching and to those who have found and keep searching. As this search in life never ends until life ends.
It feels good to have something done. It feels good to have a new book out. It feels good to have your second book published. It feels even better when you’ve done it all yourself. It is all yours; I mean, it is all mine. It is a piece of me and a piece of my life, and I am happy to release that burden out there in the world and take that baggage off my shoulders. Let it go. Let it fly. Let it do what it does. Let it live. The future is here. The future is near. The future is all the unwritten books out there in the world. And I will make this future more interesting, as there is just so much more to say and to write and to think about. Life has just begun.
He checked into Hampton Inn by Hilton in Florence, South Carolina, around 10 pm. He had to, and it was getting late. The highway was endless and pitch dark, his vision was getting blurry, and his head was starting to spin from driving all day. Rightfully so, he’s been driving from Florida for nearly nine hours straight, and it was only halfway to his hometown, Philadelphia. Nothing and nobody was waiting for him in Philadelphia besides a bunch of problems, frustration, depression, bad old memories, and the cold grey days which ate him alive slowly. Mark McGuire was at one point the greatest living writer in Philadelphia, turning into the greatest suffering and mediocre alcoholic. The lady luck wasn’t on his side this time.
Writers are better writers when they genuinely suffer; the more they suffer, the better their writing becomes. It was true for Mark. After a month of trying to find his muse in Florida under the bright warm sun, basking on the beach every day didn’t help him much. Somehow it was harder to write in that environment. Mark would wake up early, brew some coffee and sit in front of his laptop, wondering why his writing wasn’t coming to him. Back home in Philly, he wasn’t even thinking about that. Once his laptop was on, the writing came to his pages. It might not be the best of his writing, but it was something. He knew it. He knew he had to stay consistent. He knew he had to do his homework. It will be hard to outperform his previous legendary work, but there was always a bit of hope for him to get there. He was good at writing everything poetry, prose, blog rants, and pretty much anything while living and suffering in Philadelphia. The main problem was that he hated that place and all its people. This could be why he had so much on his mind, which came out of him in a sentence form on the page.
His retreat in Florida did solve, however, one problem. His anxiety went away. It was diminished almost completely. He wasn’t the angry middle-aged man anymore. There was some sense of balance and relaxed vibes about him. He felt it. He was relaxed, and his mind was of so much shit he usually had to deal with daily for a very long time. Even though he wasn’t that productive in Florida, he did write something. A few pieces were not much, but they were shaped perfectly. He needed to figure out where to take the storyline, but what he did have was a great beginning of something that could turn big. Something that might bring his name and fame back on the bookshelves in America and Europe. Who knows? This might be just it.
Hampton Inn and Suites was pretty quiet inside the lobby, and there was almost nobody there except the receptionist. She greeted him warmly and asked how she could help. Mark asked for the room. The king-sized bed was alright. On the first floor, no problem. She rang him up. He paid and went over to his room. It felt like his feet were not his anymore. They felt like they weren’t really listening to his mind. Somebody might think that he was drunk. Who cares? He was too tired to think about it too much. He just needed the rest, the shower, and a pillow under his head. The room was very conveniently located, not too far from the side exit, which was perfect since Mark could get back to his car and bring his stuff over. He also thought that this would be very convenient to go outside for a smoke. The gym room was right around the corner, but no energy was left in him for a workout.
He opened the room and, entering, flipped the switch on. The room was nicely designed and smelled fresh. He looked around with great satisfaction because he liked what he saw. The room was immaculate and well-designed. It felt like you wanted to stay there and chill. There was a bathroom to his right and the TV set to his left, and across in the middle of the room was the king-sized bed. There was also some sort of a reading nook with a lamp hanging over it. This would be perfect for writing and reading something tonight. I might even write something in this room, thought Mark. Like the good old guys, staying at some random hotel room late at night in the middle of nowhere, trying to get his worlds and soul on paper. He put his bag down and turned on the light everywhere. Shower first, he thought, and started unzipping his bag.
The bathroom looked pristine and modern. It has anything one might need in the hotel room. After the shower, Mark felt a bit more relaxed and refreshed. He looked at himself through the stimmed foggy from the hot water mirror. Man, you’ve come a long way, he said. Where are you going next? It was more of a rhetorical question he asked himself. There were things that he needed to think about and some priorities to set.
He had a sandwich in his bag and a beer with a small bag of Doritos he had just bought at a local gas station. This will be my dinner, he thought. He was hungry. It was too late to eat that kind of stuff, and he never tried to get his belly full before bedtime, but he didn’t care. I’ll eat this, and then I can relax and read, maybe write something, or maybe I’ll just watch some bad night TV? There was always something useless to watch on TV every time you turned it on. Whether you wanted to watch it or not was another question. Just something to kill time and switch the brains off for a brief moment.
Mark was alone and lonely. Not just in this hotel room but in life. Since his wife divorced him and his latest girlfriend was tired of babysitting him, he just ran solo. There was nothing wrong with being alone. It was liberating in the way. He could think straight now and focus more on his writing with fewer interruptions. But still, something felt missing. He was still searching for it.
He heard voices in the next room. They were man’s and woman’s voices and laughter. He saw a young lady walking into the room next to him earlier. There was somebody with her. They laughed, and Mark didn’t pay too much attention to it. Then it was quiet, and then the moans began. They were very passionate about it. The girl was not hiding anything and gave it all out. Mark could hear her very honest, loud, and unapologetic moans. He wished he would have somebody over. He wished he would be in that room with that girl right now, making her sound like that. The moans continued for the next five minutes before breaking into total silence. It was over. Now they both were satisfied. Mark imagined them lying in bed looking at the ceiling, out of breath, sweaty and happy, just looking and breathing loudly with satisfaction. I need a smoke, he thought and walked outside.
It has been a quiet night outside, and it felt pleasant regardless of the humidity. Mark pulled his cigarette out and lit it. He inhaled the organic tobacco deeply and exhaled the thick white smoke into the night sky. The cloud of smoke went up and over his head and into the air, moving slowly and heavily. Mark inhaled again and exhaled with a feeling of satisfaction and calm. This stuff will kill you, Mark, he thought to himself. Life will kill you, was the internal response he gave himself. That was true. You never know what to expect or not to expect these days. One day everything goes smoothly. Another, all the shit hits the fan, a wall, or something else. And then you find yourself with your back against the wall, gasping for another chance for another breath, trying to survive and live just a little bit longer. There was nobody in the parking lot except for Mark, which allowed him to focus on his thoughts. It has been a while since he could think in peace and quiet and evaluate his life situation. Many things needed to be worked out.
Yes, he wished for a comeback. Yes, he wanted to be loved again. Yes, the middle-life crisis was a real thing. Yes, Mark wanted to be a great writer again now or soon, not in the past. He was tired of trying to live up to his past. The past was good to him on the one hand and not so much on the other. He had it both ways. He’s been poor and broke, rich and famous, and now he’s just lost almost everything. The greatest living writer was drowning in his life and his bullshit with no way out. The people will wait, and the fans will stay if they care enough. Who knows if anybody still cares? Mark cares. But does anybody else care about what Mark cares? There was a shitstorm of thoughts moving through his mind while tobacco smoke was moving through his lungs. The “Don’t close your eyes” song by Kix repeatedly played in his mind. He’d listened to that song dozens of times while on the road. There was something in this depressing music and the lyrics that would cheer one up during the hard times. This one was helping Mark and making him feel like he’s not alone and other people are also in the fucked up situations. This thought calmed his shit down for a moment.
He finished his cigarette and exhaled the last cloud of smoke into the air. The lonely figure on the parking lot at night, full of his thoughts and nicotine, looking into the sky, asking for another chance. You’ll get it, Mark. Just wait. Just wait and write something and you’ll see the fans will be back, you can get your life back, and you can feel much better and appreciated like never before. You will be a great writer again, if not better. Just trust this feeling. Stay hopeful, you moron.
He went back into his room. The room looked empty and lonely. His laptop sat on the writing desk with the corner lamp on. It reminded Mark that he could use a bit of the time he had in this room to write. There is no better place to focus on writing than the hotel room, where you are all alone with no distractions and nobody who can disturb you, especially at night. He returned to the desk, turned the laptop on, and opened a new word document. The worlds came to him in no time, and he secured them all on his pages. One word after another, one line after another, he was getting somewhere. He knew this was his chance to stay productive. He once wrote about a successful writer trying to find his purpose and return to his writing, much like Mark these days. He was busy writing for another forty minutes, then he hit the bump. He looked around and up at the ceiling, thinking, I need to spice this up a bit. I need to get out there and get something to write about. You can only write so much about being lonely in a hotel room. He decided to go out. There were a bunch of restaurants and bars in the area, and there could be his luck somewhere. There could be his next story in one of those bars or restaurants, waiting for Mark to discover it.
The feeling of being tired went away quickly. Mark was ready to go out and see the local nightlife and live some life. This could be a good thing too. I am a stranger in a new city far away from home. There are some moments I can capture, he thought. The Hampton Inn was located in a very touristy area in Florence, and there were many other hotels, restaurants, and bars around. This area seemed like you could go out and not worry about getting into trouble. Mark went into the bar close to the hotel.
There were many people for the late hour of eleven o’clock at night in the middle of the week. All those people are probably tourists just traveling by or staying in South Carolina on their vacations. The bar had dimmed lighting inside. There was a small round table across the room, and bar seats were available. The pool table is in the far right corner, and a few people are at it. Quite a few people were sitting at the bar, and Mark decided to join them.
“Blue label, please,” he ordered a shot of his favorite scotch. The bartender nodded his head and turned around for the bottle. Mark looked to his side. Some women were sitting there, couples, some singles as well.
“How is it going?” The fellow to this right asked. He was pretty lit by that time, and since nobody was sitting to him this close, he decided to talk to Mark.
“It’s alright, man. How have you been?” Asked Mark, sounding disinterested.
“Going well, man, just taking it easy. It’s been a long week for me, you know?” “No, I did not know that, but I feel your pain, buddy.” Something about those lonely people at the bar who are always trying to share their shit with strangers. Mark never liked talking to anybody, but now this guy was stealing his attention.
“I was driving a truck from California and was on my way home and broke. The fucking repairs are taking a week to two weeks. There is nothing else for me to do. I am behind schedule, and the delivery has now been reassigned to another driver. Just coming here to this bar and getting loaded. You know? Fuck I hate when my truck breaks down. What can I do right? While I’m stuck here, I might take it easy and drink.
“Yeh, man, sorry to hear about that,” said Mark with a grin on his face. “At least you can relax and take it easy at the bar. Eventually, you’ll be back on the road, working again.”
“That’s right, man. Ok, I got to get out of here. I think I’ve got my doze by now. I’ll see you around, man. Take care.” He left some tips on the bar table and went slowly to the bathroom before leaving the bar.
Mark drank his scotch while watching a TV screen in front of him. He was glad the guy didn’t hang at this bar for too long, and he wouldn’t have to listen to his misfortunes. He was now alone, a loner in the strange City, in the strange bar, too far away from home. In these situations, you feel like you’re a ghost. You are here, and nobody knows who you are. Nobody really pays any attention to you. You came and left with no return to this place. It was almost perfect.
Then this woman came into the bar with her girlfriend and sat there. Mark glanced and nodded at them, like hey, hello, I saw you coming in and thought I’d say Hi. They made the same gesture in response. There was some laughter and some conversations that the two were so deeply involved in. Mark minded his own business sipping on his scotch. After a while, the two ladies approached him and said Hi. This was surprising, but it was also good to be around. Mark smiled back with this charming smile and introduced himself.
“Oh, you are Mark McGuire?! I cannot believe it. Lora, look, this is him, the famous writer! Wow, what a surprise! I thought you were just a random handsome, lonely guy sitting at the bar at night and looking for company.” Lady giggled and showed their white teeth through their smiles, looking at each other and Mark, laughing silly.
“And all of that was true, except for the “famous writer” thing. I’m still working on it. But thank you, very pleased to meet you as well, ladies.” Mark felt that now he must live up to his fucking image. One of these ladies was clearly into him. She was a fan. He was trying not to be involved with his fans. However, it was hard to manage since he was so famous and some women he couldn’t ignore. He had to have them and enjoy them while they came.
“The pleasure is all ours, Mark. I have read all your books. I wonder if there is a writer these days in America who can write well as you do. Something about your particular writing and its tone and realism just attracts the reader to the story and the book. And then you find yourself reading it straight through the night, and I love it.”
“I’m always glad to know that people are or have been enjoying my books. I was working on each and every one of them really hard. Not so much harder lately, but back then, back in the day, I was on fire! Thank you, though.”
“Do you mind a little company?”
“Make yourself at home, please,” said Mark. This night might not be so dull and lonely anymore. His writing will suffer, but he has to live his life too. He needs this. His writing needs this. His little writer’s soul needs this. To live. To create. And to fuck.
The next couple of hours at the bar went by quickly. Mark found out that the two women also staying in the same hotel as he. What a coincidence! One of the women gave him his room number on the way out. This is another fucking night of adventure in his lonely writer’s life worth living for. Great, Mark thought. I need to take it easy and relax. It’s been a long fucking ride home, and more is still ahead. The chances are high that I will be stopping by that room tonight.
He didn’t remember what led to this and how he ended up in the next-door hotel. It was one of those mornings when you feel every cell in your brain vibrating, but you are happy because you know it was worth it. It definitely was. The two naked women from the bar next to him were on the bed, sleeping peacefully. What a night, he thought?! Who would ever imagine I would wind up here? He looked around the room. It was a large room with a king-sized bed. There were leftover beer bottles with snacks and cigarettes all over the table. They sure got a great time last night. Fuck, Mark thought, it is time to get the fuck out of here before everyone awakes. They might wake up with no recollection of what the fuck happened last night. They may say it was all my fault. Or whatever might come up, I don’t want to suffer through this shit.
He got out of bed and picked up his clothes, scattered all over the floor. It reminded him of some sort of aftermath in a crazy sex-movie scene. He picked up a beer bottle and drank as much as possible in one shot. It felt so great and refreshing. Even the warmed-up beer felt great at the moment. Mark thought the beer was going straight into his head, and the last night’s buzz was resurfacing and hitting him in his brain again.
He left the room quietly. I need to get to my room now. He took the elevator down and walked down the hall toward his room. The hotel felt a bit strange, but he wasn’t too concerned. His entire life felt very strange as well. He tried the key, and it didn’t work. He tried a few more times, but clearly, something wasn’t right. If it feels wrong, it might be wrong, Mark. He went to the lobby and saw a lady at the reception. He wanted to come to her for a moment and ask about the key not working, but somebody had just entered the hotel and went straight towards the reception desk. Let me get some smoke first, Mark thought.
Where the fuck am I, he thought, standing in the parking lot. This is not the hotel I registered in, and where the fuck is my car? My car was parked right outside the side door. Shit. I am at the wrong hotel. He walked around the building, checking the nearby places. There were five hotels in this area, one next to another. He looked up and saw the Marriott sign on this building. Yeh, definitely not my hotel. He walked around and saw Hampton’s building, two buildings down. Hotel’s sign appeared on his face, and he exhaled the smoke with relief. At least he knows where he’s at. He strolled towards his room. I don’t feel like hitting the road anytime soon, he thought. He went into the lobby and extended his stay for another day. Then walked towards his room and collapsed on the bed. He stayed there till the following day.
He slept in late, and once he checked out, he knew he would have something to write about his adventures at home. It was always a good practice to let any new experiences and thoughts marinate in his mind for a little bit before they were ready to go out. He knew this was about a matter of time before he’ll get this shit on the paper in a novel form. The remaining ten or so hours went by quickly. He was excited to come back after a long time. This trip was indeed helpful. He realized a few things throughout. He’s changed. He couldn’t remain in the same place, doing the same things, and hoping for better results. The results were shit, and he felt like it quickly. And with time, it was the only thing he felt like. Someone had to give. Some things had to change.
Once in Philly, he was happy again. He realized that he missed his beloved fucked-up City, with all the homelessness, pollution, dirt, traffic, and shitty restaurants. I am home, baby. I am happy to be back. The new novel was written in record time after his return. Mark worked days, nights, and everywhere in between whenever he felt he needed to write something. It all worked out well. There was a press release from his publisher, and the world was excited about the new upcoming book from their local, famous writer-hero. He’s back. He was fucking back.
There are moments when I feel like I’ve exhausted my creative sources. The well has dried up. I don’t know what else to do. I sit and fucking wonder, and nothing will come to me. No ideas. No creativity sparks. I just sit there with my mind blank, blanking like a motherfucker. This must be resistance. That bitch is undoubtedly in the way, keeping me away from my writing. I have to work. I have to get something down. I have to keep going. Fuck resistance, I think, as I open a new document and start typing my useless thoughts in some weird, chaotic order. According to Mr. Pressfield, the only way to beat resistance is to show up every day and do what you have to do regardless of how you feel, how much you produce, and what kind of fucking day of the week it is. One sentence is good. One sentence is much better than nothing. One sentence written down shows you’ve overcome resistance, and you showed up, and you’ve written something, anything. That matters the most; no matter how strong that fucking resistance is, you have to work against it. Once that becomes the habit, you shouldn’t care about anything else in the fucking world. You know what to do, and you show up daily or regularly to work on your craft or whatever you’re working on. Why am I reciting Pressfield? I don’t know. I guess this is the main lesson I’ve learned from reading his book “The War of Art,” which inspired me in so many ways. And secondly, this is the time when I am really struggling with my creative thoughts and my new creative writing, and he’s the only one who provides writers and creative souls with a legit solution. It seems like nothing else or nothing new to write to me about. And the time goes by, one month after another, and there is no new material, and that fucking sets me back. I get used to producing nothing; hence, I produce nothing over time. And I start looking for reasons why I haven’t written and what has been on my way not writing. I am fucking looking for excuses while not trying to do the work.
I woke up at five am this dark and cold Sunday morning last September 2022. I had a plan. I needed to wake up early to spend some alone time on my writing, with no distractions. I’ve been slacking too much lately. I better cut the bullshit out before it becomes another annoying habit of mine. So, here I am. I am back to the old me. I woke up early, and I was ready to ramble. I am ready to write. I remember days when I wasn’t even thinking about writing. I opened my laptop first thing in the morning and started to type, and the words came to me effortlessly. That happened multiple days and weeks in the raw, and at one point, I thought, holy shit, I got it. I am on the holy writing trail again. I’ve cracked the code. My excitement lasted until that habit was put on hold several times, then life kicked in, and I was out of the loop again. And then, I was fucking lost yet again. Then, I struggled with getting my routine back in order, getting my stupid mind back to work, and getting my creative juices flowing again. It is hard to start over too many times. It hasn’t gotten old yet, but it is like fuck; I’ve been here before, and now I have to go through it just one more fucking time. Life isn’t perfect, and it is tough to build a routine or a steady schedule, and shit always gets in the way. I have to provide and be here for my family. That is priority number one for me. Everything else comes second.
I watched the new Elvis movie last night. There it was, the perfect example of how one great, super successful, and world-famous Elvis sacrifices his fucking personal life and his family life for his fucking show and career. He seemed to have all the right intentions to provide for his family, but in the process, the family was not the priority anymore. Not having a normal life. Not having any family nearby to care for him. He was not even able to leave the fucking country for his International tour. He stayed here. He was committed to his act. He was performing and performing fucking well. The show must go on regardless of the misery that went along with it. He’s sold his soul in Vegas. That fucking schedule and even dedication will destroy anyone. There was a chance to take a break, stop for a while, clean up, return to his family, start all over, and live to a hundred years, but it didn’t happen. He didn’t want it. Once he was on the move, it was until the wheels came off. The wheels did come off but sadly, at forty-two years of age, dying in such fucking misery. Even for Elvis, it was a too sad way to go away like that. His priority was his art. The family was not. My priority is my family. Then all the other bullshit in its random fucking order. But I am dedicated, and I am not self-destructive. I am continuing on. I keep up the good fight. And I will be writing regardless of how slow or good or bad. I will be doing this because this is what I love to do, and it makes me feel fucking great.
I have been into J.D. Salinger’s writing a lot in the last five years. I read all of his, at least, popular books. I am sure there is more writing of his somewhere, maybe not all on Amazon. I developed a deep personal connection with “The catcher in the rye.” A true classic novel that never gets old. There are several good reasons why this novel resonated with me and so many others. I think this novel based on its writing style, theme, and rebellious protagonist, could be a great and, in a way, helpful read for all ages. Salinger combined all his Holden stories in this novel and centered them around this young and troubled fellow. Holden is an example of everyone searching for purpose in life during our formative years while searching for himself, going through some shit while voicing his thoughts and philosophy and asking questions about simple things that have a much deeper meaning. Young folks may enjoy this novel because it is fucking interesting to read and learn about this young fellow going through something during the challenging teenage period. This time in life is tricky because as one learns more about life and slowly gets introduced to adulthood, one may dismiss the adult world as phony and stupid and many things adults do as unnecessary and without a good reason. Being young and angry at the world, rebelling against the social norms and structures and institutions, dealing with depression and stress and social issues, indulging in bad habits to escape reality, and so much more. It is a protagonist that most young folks would like to be or are, in a way, already like Holden.
I read the Catcher in my late twenties and learned a lot, even more, when I re-read it several times in my early to mid-thirties. This novel has some hidden passages that shed light on the philosophy of life from a teacher Holden was visiting. The drunk fucking teacher once talking to Holden, in his drunken state, voiced pretty much the central wisdom in that novel, what it is to be an adult and what it takes to be a man. “The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for the cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.” Holden might not be entirely ready for this wisdom, as any youth exposed to such serious talks might not get it the first time. It usually comes to most younger folks later in life. As it did come to me later in my life. I wish I’d read this novel back in my teens. But I am happy to have discovered it in my late twenties and early thirties. At different points in my life, I found something very true and relatable in the “Catcher in the rye” novel.
Holden’s philosophy of being the “Catcher in the rye” is very interesting when his younger sister asks him what he wants to be in life. Even though it seems like he has no idea what he’s talking about, his response made a lot of sense to me as a father. Realizing how phony the adult world is, Holden wants to prevent children from falling into it. He realizes how great and innocent young people are, looking at and admiring his little sister. Holden wants her to avoid falling into the phony adult life journey he’s going through, as well as all adults are. He wants to protect and catch these little children from falling off the cliff. Salinger’s idea of protecting innocent youth from the mean and unjust adult world is described this way in this novel. It took me a few years to really understand what he meant. When I became a father, I finally got it. It was clear why protecting children from falling off that cliff and into the adult world was crucial for Salinger and Holden.
Once on the playground, I saw my two and half-year-old son playing with other kids. My son ran around among all these other kids, some older, some bigger than him, some more crazy than others, and my little son was up there with them trying to be part of it. He was up there on top of this pretty tall playground construction with all the tubes, pathways, and other shit. I was watching him from the ground. I saw him out there. He was shy and just looked around, watching other kids. Sometimes, he would smile if he saw something they did that was funny to him. Sometimes he imitated what others did as he walked on top of the bridge up there or crawled through the tubes and climbed ladders. I worried he might fall. I worried other kids could push him out. I felt like snatching him out of there and taking him away from all of these kids and that fucking slider. I wanted to hold him close because he might get hurt out there. I felt like my heart was being torn apart. I did not know what to do. But I knew one thing, I loved this child more than anything in the world, and I wanted to protect him and keep him safe and close for as long as possible. I knew I was not able to help him then and there. He was there on his own. I called out his name, but he didn’t see me. I saw him looking down from the top of that structure, smiling, enjoying his moment. He did not see me or hear me, but he was up there with all these kids living his life. I realized then that he will not always be close to or near me as he has been for his first three years of life. As he grows up, he will be more independent, living his life, making decisions, getting into trouble, and making things happen. I will not always be there. I will not always be able to help him. Eventually, he will fall over that “cliff” from his childhood and become an adult. Eventually, his innocent youth will be over. Eventually, he will become a father and probably feel the same about his children. The fact that I would lose him to his own adult life made me feel sad.
For an older reader, the “Catcher in the rye” book can also be a fun read because it will remind them of how it was and how it felt when they were young. Holden’s voice in this book is the voice of youth. That semi-fictional character from the early fifties still sounds relevant and accurate today in the 2020s. Salinger writes the story from Holden’s perspective, but he has himself in his mind. I believe that Salinger and olden are very similar people with similar ideas and attitudes. Salinger combined all these ranges of emotions, themes, and ideas, which are relatable to just about anybody alive. This is why this book never ran out of print, and this is why this book is still popular so many years later and will continue to be relevant because it mentions the questions and issues that are part of being a human. Everyone is closely familiar with, younger or older, regardless. I am now seeing more and more and feeling more and more about the world outside and my three-year-old son and how I wished he always stayed this little and innocent and not fucked with that utter world with its nonsense and bullshit. Salinger felt that himself and described that in this Holden protagonist and a similar character in his other works. I cannot think of a more likable example in the literature that has been so popular and so prominent and appealed to so many people over the decades.
From the moment I read the first few pages of the Catcher book, I felt like, damn, this writing is something. It is written in Holden’s voice as he deals with his life and has all these different experiences, which help the reader see life and its phoniness from a teenager’s perspective. The writing itself is Salinger’s typical stream of consciousness which comes from the first person, from the protagonist. The language that he uses is the language of the youth. It is meant to sound that way. It sounds and reads pretty cool, even after it was cool to talk like that back in the fifties. This simple, casual, and sometimes even dull language is easily accessible and relatable to most people. Writing this way helps to deliver the critical message better. And it did, as we can see over the years. On a personal level, I do relate to Holden a lot. I felt like that many times growing up. I always wanted to be in that pristine, careless state, doing things that I liked to do, knowing that getting older would require shifting priorities and getting educated and getting a job, and getting married and dealing with like like all adults do. I wasn’t necessarily against it, but I knew the fun would be over soon.
When I was in my mid to late twenties, I had accomplished half of the required program that I had on my mind. I got my education, married, and worked jobs, but I wasn’t happy. The more I lived and experienced life, the more I knew how fucking rough and ridiculous it became. I read this book when I was twenty-nine, and at that point in my life, I was on the edge of being lost. I was on the edge of switching my life from a careless young lad to a young adult who had to support his family. I knew that many people my age were pretty damn fucking set up and organized and were much further in life than I was. I was always behind on everything. The book, even by accident, was read with quiet enthusiasm, and it felt very relatable and entertaining. I was about to be fired from one job, and I was working on landing a new job. My wife and I lived with my in-laws, on our last dollar, with no good prospects for the near future. I wanted to become a writer, but I knew I couldn’t just drop out of the professional world because we would die in poverty. I was trying to do my writing in my personal free time while making a paycheck to support my family. As I wasn’t any good or prolific writer, this lifestyle wasn’t a problem to maintain. The problem was that more and more, I felt like I hated the office job, corporate job, or any fucking job. I knew how things usually turn around, and I knew that no matter the excitement, in the beginning, every fucking job would be turned around to be a disappointment. Sooner or later, either by my or my company’s request, this fucking professional journey would end. Whatever I’ve been working on so hard wouldn’t matter to anyone anymore, nor to me. So, the question that I faced so many times was, why in the fuck do I need to suffer like that all the time? Why wasn’t I dedicated to doing what I love to do? Why wasn’t I writing?
There I was, feeling like Holden, unwilling to work, feeling down and experiencing the phony, dull fucking outside world, trying to escape it somehow by running away. Holden is raising the same question. Why bother with the real phony world if you could just run away and live somewhere further and outside of these typical social circles? He knew at an early age that adult life is not easy, and there is a lot of unfairness and bullshit involved, and he refused to be part of it. However immature, his thoughts always focused on little things, which showed how big his inner world was. He cares where the duck goes when it gets cold and the lake in the park freezes. He cares about the young children being fall off the cliff. He feels sorry for the poor nuns on the bus ride and gives them money. He loves his little sister more than life and cares for her. When he spoke about being a catcher in the rye and protecting children, he meant his little sister on his mind. He’s not interested in education, like probably 90% of young people, but he doesn’t seem like a guy who refuses to know things. He’s trying to acquire information, talk to people, and he knows many things as he’s coming along. His rebellious soul is always looking for something, for some purpose, that would come to him later in life.
We all want to live great lives and have everything we need, but we refuse to deal with the consequences and the struggles which make many people miserable. It’s sometimes good, however. This is how one learns about life, what it means, and how to make it all work. This is how wisdom arrives. This is how people learn about their purpose and the important little things which matter the most. And the main thing is that life is a journey, and everyone has their own. Some people are lucky early in that journey, and some later on. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the journey itself. It’s time to enjoy it. It’s time to live now. It’s time to enjoy every little moment because there will be no second times. Prioritize what you love to do and do it. Enjoy it. Enjoy all the great books and writing we have and learn from them. Books will help make one’s life more enjoyable, and the phony world outside will always be that way.
The ocean looked calm, more or less. Waves were hitting the shoreline, But no more than usual. It’s never too quiet or simple, anyway. The sand under our feet felt rough and a little wet From the last night’s rain But it still felt great To be at the beach with my family. The kid played in the sand, and I played with him And he smiled and laughed as we both did At something that he enjoyed doing. We ran on the sand, chasing seagulls, Chasing dreams, Chasing life. My wife was smiling, playing with our son, And he was happy and excited to be there. He loves playing in the sand, building or ruining the sandcastles, Running in the sand, falling on the sand, walking on the sand Do anything on the sand. We stay out there late until the sunset As the sun was rolling down the hills, we packed And left the ocean to be there, lonely in the dark. It was a great day at the beach, indeed, And sadly, there aren’t too many days like this one, Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a poem about it.
This October is the third anniversary since I started my blog. It is quite a new milestone for me personally, and it is this new activity that kept me going and kept me writing and trying and posting regularly. I created this blog with a simple idea to write regularly and share it with other people. I used to spend a lot of time trying to submit to other websites, publications, literature contests, and all that other shit, and as time went by, I figured it was such a fucking waste of time, money, and energy. I could’ve been creating more instead of trying to get some assholes to accept and publish my poems or stories on their sites. At one point, I looked up several of those publications and their shitty websites, and I thought, fuck them all. Who is going to find and read my stuff there anyway? I might as well create my own site and post there any fucking thing I want, as often as I want, and make this site as good as possible. And one sunny day in October of 2019, I fucking did it. I created my own website, and the John Loraine Blog was born.
I was still early in my writing life and was writing sporadically here and there whenever I could. I had my moments of inspiration, and I wrote a lot, but then I had some long holes where I couldn’t bring myself to write a fucking thing. I always knew I wanted to be a writer, and I knew that a writer’s job is as little as sitting down and writing. I didn’t have any discipline. I lacked character. At times I didn’t know what to write about. I was overthinking everything. Then I waited a long time for the perfect moment to come to sit down and write, which never came. I wasn’t any fucking good, to begin with. Not saying I am any fucking good now, either. But all those years of writing weren’t wasted, and I’ve evolved as a writer. My writing has improved, and there is so much more of it now. So this blog became my new writing destination and the main reason to keep writing and posting regularly. In the “About” section of my blog, I wrote this, which pretty much defines the primary purpose of this blog and its identity: “This blog is a place for me to practice and share my writing, go crazy, pour out my inspirations into something, and primarily post shit that would never be published anywhere else by anybody. You might find typos, grammar mistakes, incoherent sentences, and random thoughts jumping from one topic to another, and that’s alright. Nobody’s perfect, and neither am I. The point is to share my personal experiences, struggles, hardships, thoughts, ideas, and whatever else comes to mind.”
Since the start, I have shared some stories that shaped me into who I am today. There is a three-stories series called “My shit’s out of luck,” where I describe some real-life events and my struggles with writing and life in general. These stories were to shape the theme of my blog, and they are very close to my heart, and they made me who I am today. The first story, or rather a rant, which I wrote and submitted online back in 2018, has been accepted by a lady from England from the New London Writers organization. She decided to post it on her literate website. That has been my main writing breakthrough moment. That fucking moment changed my life. At that time, I felt that I was being discovered and would be a public writer, so to speak. I felt super fucking hyped and excited after receiving an acceptance email from the lady in England. Then I started to freak out. I thought, fuck, this piece is such a crazy fucking thing to go public. How would people respond? How should I feel about this now being in the public eye? Should I change my name? I was out of the two corporate jobs around that time, driving for Uber for a living, and I surely didn’t want to fuck up my job searching process. So I decided to call myself John Loraine instead of my real name. The lady from the New London Writers didn’t mind me using a nickname for this publication. John is a prevalent name, and it also belongs to so many great people and writers. In my mind, I dedicated this name to John Fante. The Loraine part came from the one historic building I have been obsessed with since I first saw it, the Divine Lorraine Hotel in Philadelphia. I removed the second “r” to make it easier to spell. This is how my pen name came to be.
So this is how it all began for me. We had another conversation with New London Writers about posting regularly on their platform and becoming a member of their organization, but the conversation dropped off at some point. I am trying to remember exactly why and when. I think I blew it off. I guess I was too damned occupied, busy driving for Uber, and scared to get my work out into the free world. I needed more material to be published, and I already felt too much pressure from my future regular submissions. It was a mistake on my end. This fucking publication was off the hook. They would publish my stories with all my profanity as long as it was not “borderline illegal.” Where could you find a platform like that anymore? I felt like Bukowski for a moment. I felt like, fuck, this is it. Almost 100% of publications I was trying to submit and have been 99.9% rejected were super woke and polite and very fucking flamboyant platforms publishing flamboyant writers. In comparison, this place in England seemed to be groundbreaking. The New London Writers doesn’t exist anymore. I think they ceased to exist shortly after our partnership. Not because of me. I assume because there was no gas in the tank. They ran out of resources, and whatever they had going there probably didn’t monetize.
But I have survived. I’ve learned my lesson. In 2018, I had 0 experience with blog writing, writing, publishing, and creating anything on WordPress. A year later, I matured, and I figured out I could do this independently. I could create my website and blog and start writing and posting whatever I want there. I’ve learned from online videos how to create a blog and then looked up some other technical shit to make it what it is today. It was quite an undertaking for me at the time, but somehow it all worked out. JohnLoraineBlog was born in October 2019 and is still alive and kicking.
Since the beginning, I have been trying to post regularly, at least three to four times per month. I combined the prose with poetry to keep it more interesting for the readers and myself. My goal wasn’t to reach many people. My goal was to publish something as if many people were expecting something from me every month. That mentality kept me going through the last few years. I wrote a lot. I wrote consistently. I have the material. I wasn’t afraid anymore of sharing my writing with the world. It was OK. It felt great. I felt accomplished. And now, I’ve become a true working and published writer, an independent writer who wrote his mind and soul. I hated the idea of writing to support an agenda or try to fit into some establishment. I didn’t give two fucks about any establishment. It was me, myself, and my writing. Free as a bird in the sky.
Toward the end of 2019, I decided to publish my poems as a poetry collection book, of which I had over 200 in total. I knew that it would take forever and more to try to get some publication involved. So I’ve decided to self-publish my first book. With today’s resources, it is easy as anything. I’ve found a designer for a book cover who did a great fucking job. I reviewed, rewrote, and edited all of my poems. It took me a while to go through everything and put my manuscript in order, but I did it. In mid-2020, when the pandemic was roaming the world, I locked myself out and finished the book. In early July, “My Poems My Soul” was up on Amazon. I cannot describe how happy I was then. What an accomplishment for a struggling writer this moment has been. What an achievement for somebody who just a few years back started to write poetry, imitating Charles Bukowski and dreaming about becoming a published author one day.
At the time of this writing, I’ve already finished collecting material for my second self-published book. This upcoming book will include my blog posts for the last three years. The idea came about last year. I originally planned to publish this book in 2021 to celebrate two years of JohnLoraineBlog, but somehow I was never able to find time for it. This year I took it seriously, and I did the work. I went through everything I wrote and posted on my blog, edited and rewrote, and organized it all, so it is now ready to be published. Why did I decide to publish what was already posted on my blog? I felt bad for all the work I’d done over the years, and it would be an injustice to leave everything up there like that. It would make me a more accomplished writer if it all became a book. I needed to have it collected in a book to keep it alive. This blog might cease to exist at some point, but the book will live forever.
So what does the future hold? Fuck, if I know. One thing I know for sure is that I am not planning to stop writing. It will go on. I am increasingly convinced that I should be writing and trying different things and getting better at it. I know that this is a journey. I realize that life will come back at me kicking and screaming and fucking me over like it usually does. But I know something else. The more complicated my life is, the better my writing becomes. I have two drafts of two novels and three great ideas for three more books. All it takes is to sit the fuck down and start writing them all out. I will accomplish something someday. I want to become a famous writer. It is a crazy idea, but all the greats have started somewhere. I want to dedicate more and more time to my writing, regardless of anything else going on.
I also have a screenwriting project idea, which could become something great one day. As far as my blog goes, I’ve renewed my domain license for another three years, so that fucking thing has some more life in it, and I will be taking advantage of it. Depending on the circumstances, I’ll continue posting here at least a couple of times per month. I also joined Substack, where I haven’t done much, but that fucking platform seems to be something I wanted to create with my blog three years ago. It has it all in one place. I need to do some more work there as well. Maybe, at some point, I’ll move to Substack entirely to keep things simple and all in one place. Will see. Time will tell.
The sad thing is that I have yet to have a single subscriber from my website. I don’t know if there is one person that reads my blog regularly. Probably not. Even though I see around a hundred visits to the blog every month from around the world. Social media sharing did not prove to be any fucking useful at all. I keep posting on both Instagram and Twitter about every single fucking post, and I have no idea how many people that channel brought over. I get a few likes here and there but doesn’t mean shit. People like the picture for the most part, which is not even pictures I took. I get them all from Pexels. My point is that it is tough to break through even though there are so many fucking channels and all this technology available to make it so easy and quick. However, this does not discourage me. This only makes me work even more and work harder.
I do it all for myself first. I want to keep track and a trail of my writing and my progress somewhere where it is visible. At one point in time, I can say, damn, I wrote so fucking much, and it all can be found here on my blog. Joe Rogan once said about his podcast that it was never about getting millions of listeners; it was always consistent and honest work and real honest conversations. In the end, he has the number-one podcast in the entire fucking world. That idea was on my mind when I started writing this blog. It only has been three years. The world is changing every day, and nobody knows what the future holds. Maybe, at one point, this thing will come to fruition and become a go-to blog for many people.
In conclusion, I would like to say thank you to all who visited my blog, all who read anything on my blog, and the few people who bought my poetry book. I don’t give a fuck about popularity, although it would indicate that I have achieved something in my life as a writer. Again, this is my battleground and my practice field, and it makes me happy to post anything every so often. So I will continue writing and posting on my blog in the same spirit for the next few years. And even if this writing passion takes me nowhere, I will have a pretty damn good amount of material and evidence that I am a true writer with a solid book of work. Writing is all that matters here. Writing is all that makes me feel happy and accomplished, and I will move forward in that direction. Happy third-anniversary, JohnLoraineBlog! I raise my glass today to so many more productive and creative years and for a bright and free future for contemporary writing and blogging. Cheers!
Sometimes it rains through the clear sky Like the sky is cleansing itself and getting it all out. Sometimes I sit and wonder about the sky through The whiskey mind and the clouds of smoke. There is something in that smoke that makes a man wonder. There is something in the sky that does the same. The whiskey is cold, and it tastes like freedom, The only thing that one cares about always. The only thing that one gets less of every day. The only thing that is being taken away slowly. You can’t take the words out of the song. It’s been written this way. It is meant to be this way. It wouldn’t be the same song otherwise. There is music in the air, and there is smoke. There is a brave heart, and there are bluebirds in the sky. There is a strong mind and a weak soul And there are so many books meant to be read But most of them will be forgotten. There is so much in life that it takes several lives To live honestly and fully and experience everything. Some men never lived, and some never died. When it rains, the world stops, and everyone is waiting for it to stop. When it rains, the soul wants to get out there and be free, And wash itself out in that warm summer rain. Some things will never be the same as people Would never be the same. There are songs that never will be played again. Like the song of freedom.
The watch is ticking on my wrist I can see the handles move in circles And I can hear the tiny gears And springs in motion. They move the time, They change my life, The watch remains the same.
The watch is ticking on my wrist But when it stops, I feel relieved. It feels like I’ve captured the moment I own it. It is all mine. The watch might stop as Life might stop But time never stops And the watch is always the same, The same twenty-four hours, The same markers for twelve, three, six, and nine.
The watch is ticking on my wrist I can hear it in the quiet room. It will stop when my heart stops Beating, living, exhausted from pumping The blood. One day it will be the end for me The end to all of us, But there will be somebody To wind that watch of life To make it tick again, To make the movement go, As time goes on, As life goes on. Time never stops It always moves.
Life? What is life? What is there about it? Why is it always have to go the wrong way? Why, every so often, does life take you to some weird fucking places and knocks you down? Where the fuck am I going? And all of us? You, me, and everybody? It is bizarre to figure out your own life. You only learn this as you go along the way and stumble and fall, down deep into the shit of it all. It always has been this way. I always thought that when I grew up and reached my current age, I would know all the tricks and have all the answers. How naive of me was that? The longer I live, the more questions and doubts I have and the more confused and puzzled I become. It is not easy to make the right decision or any fucking decision because now, as an adult, there are no small decisions. Everything has consequences, and I have to take full responsibility. Not because I have to, I could surely fuck around, but because it is the right thing to do, and this is what grown men do. They take responsibility for all their actions and decisions and fight every day to ensure that they do all they can today to make their lives better tomorrow.
I am no longer the young and careless lad I once was. I am not an old fuck either. But these are the times right now when I establish myself as a real man, my character and my personality and my lifestyle, to help me get through this fucking crazy life. I know I’ve made many bad decisions, and many things could be different today. I am not even complaining about anything I’ve done. I love my life the way it is, and knowing how others struggle everywhere in the world, I feel so fucking fortunate. And honestly, even if I fucked up a few times here and there, I wouldn’t mind it too much because I wouldn’t be the person I am today. This is all about learning that shit as you go and keep moving forward. One should never stop moving forward unless you’re not breathing anymore. That’s the only allowed permanent stop. All other times, you have no excuses. Whether you want it or not, you have to get out there and fight every day and be who you are, become a better version of yourself, and find your true passion or your calling or whatever it is you are looking for.
I remember waiting when I was younger. I remember that there always has been a lot of waiting involved all the time. Waiting until I finish high school, finish college, or university, waiting for the job, waiting for the pay, waiting to reach a certain age, a particular moment, waiting for my opportunity. There is still a lot of waiting involved today, but it is called work in progress. I am kind of waiting for a better life, easy living, more fun, less pain, and less struggle, but also I am buried in my life with my daily chores and responsibilities. I know that just by waiting, I will not achieve shit. I have to do something about it. I have to work hard. I have to work smart. I have to keep my eyes open and not miss the opportunity coming my way, sideways, or wherever direction that bitch is coming from. I have to be ready. I have to be prepared for anything.
One never knows what life will put you through until it does. One never knows what tomorrow will bring. So, the game is to be ready for anything and be strong whatever comes your way. We are all here temporarily, people you know today, your friends, relatives, co-workers, and neighbors. One day you might wake up to a phone call about somebody’s death. Somebody you wouldn’t even question living for a long time might pass away. Are you ready for this? No. Nobody is. I don’t care who you are and how tough you are. Life will keep throwing punches and curve balls at you all the fucking time, and you have to be strong enough to manage all that shit. There are battles at war, and also, there are battles in peace. The winner might not take everything, but the winner better be you. Otherwise, there comes another defeat, misery, depression, wasted years of life, and so many wasted lives. People can be kind or seem kind at first. You always find out too late about all the pitfalls and shit that come from others. Sometimes it even feels like you have nobody to lean on, nobody to have your back. You are here, all alone, on your own, with all the bullshit to deal with. Modern society is strange these days, super sensitive and very easily manipulated. You could be too. You have to be mindful and aware and have your eyes and ears open all the time.
I often sit in total despair and wonder, how could shit get more brutal than this? And guess what? Next time around, sure as fuck, it becomes next-level insane. I am learning to become kind of immune to that. I never expect things and life to go easy and smooth. I know it never will be. But I also know that I have to be stronger to stand against it, whatever it is. Something does hurt you a lot. I mean, some things will damage you profoundly and permanently, and you might stay this way for a very long time. Even if you recover, you must never forget your past struggles. They will make you tougher. They will make you smarter. They will make you more resilient. “To be alive at all is to have scars” – an excellent quote from John Steinback. That is what I am talking about. This is another way of saying, “What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.” However, as cliche, as it might sound, it is true as anything.
We all grow up. We all get older with time. We age differently and interestingly, and that is the fact. We get fucking old. All of us. Even if you have that plastic surgery, everyone, including you, knows you’re fucking old. With age, there comes wisdom. Some get it more and some less. I am not judging. The more I get older, the more stupid I think I become but also, the more I learn and see that I know nothing. There is just so much shit to learn and discover, so many questions, and even more questions without answers. We try to answer them all, but often we fail. It is okay to fail. It is not okay to give up trying. Plastic surgery won’t give you all the answers, either. It won’t give you any wisdom except a good understanding that eventually, we fail to be young and beautiful and full of energy as we once were back in our innocent and glorious youth. The thing is to keep up the good fight, whatever it means to you. To be as good as you can be today and try for the same tomorrow. It is hard. Nobody said it would be easy. But, if you want to get and achieve something in this life, you have to do it.
Love is there also for us. Love does not always have big boobs or a nice, round big ass. Love is a feeling. Love is the air. Love is an ocean. Love is the motivation, and love should be in our lives to help us get through everything. Many people fail at love or love somebody they shouldn’t. You can’t always tell your heart what to do, but you can make the right decision. There is always the right person somewhere out there for all of us. I’ve been fortunate to have found my love. She is always near and dear to me, my heart, and my soul. There is no price tag or expiration date. There should not be one, to begin with. Things do happen, and it might seem like the love has evaporated. It might be gone, for that matter, but also, it could be the wrong love. The wrong choice you’ve made somewhere along the way, and as time went by, it became more apparent. It is sad but true. I don’t know how to find the right one. I guess time will tell. I think you have to make a move and use the proper judgment, and then you’ll see if you were right or not.
Life wouldn’t be interesting if it wouldn’t fuck with us from time to time. That’s life. I don’t think one can be fully ready for all shitstorms that could come your way. One doesn’t know what to expect the next minute, which makes it all very unpredictable and very mysterious, in a way. I guess this fight never stops. It’s always on as long as you live, as long as you breathe, and if you want to take another breath, you should fight for it. So, it just makes perfect sense to sit back and enjoy life and every little moment. One day it is rough; another is a blast. So, what the fuck?
I do want to go back. I want to return to my emotional and spiritual home, the warm beach in South West Florida. I thought about it recently. I reminisced about the good old days and the time when my mind and soul were in total peace and harmony. There was no anxiety, depression, stress, or any fucking worry whatsoever. There is something in that sunshine that makes you feel more alive. The minute you get out of the car or a plane and look around and look up, you feel free and happy. There is no better way to get all the fucking vitamin D you can get out there. That is a secret ingredient to happiness. It does make me happy. It does make me genuinely happy like nothing else in the world. That climate is just perfect. It’s warm and consistent, and there are no significant ups and downs and fucking sideways with temperatures or anything else. Yes, it rains and storms like fucking hell at certain times, but most of the time, it’s fucking perfect. It is 85 on average every day. It could be plus or minus two, three, or four degrees. Who gives a shit? It’s still great. It makes one want to live and love this life.
The ocean. The ocean is magnificent by its nature, and it heals. It heals all the wounds that we get from the day-to-day bullshit. You know what heaven feels like when you sit on the beach watching waves, lying in the sand, or swimming in the warm ocean water. I loved to wake up early and drive to the beach for my morning runs. I ran barefoot slowly, listening to some music while still hearing the ocean and the birds. I ran with the early morning sun in my face, the beach to my side, and my bare feet feeling the wet sand on the shore like nothing else. It felt so liberating. It felt like freedom. It was not physical exercise for me. It was a joy and pure mental and spiritual joy. When my day started like that every morning, there was nothing that could upset me anymore or have any fucking negative impact on me whatsoever. I just didn’t give a fuck. I was in heaven. I knew I had it better than most. I was devouring every second of my time there on the beach every time, and I started to appreciate little moments like that more. I began to see life from a new perspective. I knew that there was a reason why I was alive and why I should love this life. I knew that I was so fucking fortunate to be there. I was so grateful for my life, what I have, and the people around me.
Sunsets. Oh, these magnificent sunsets can cure cancer, and they are perfect each time you see one. I cannot tell you how happy I have been to witness all the sunsets I did, how many thoughts ran through my mind, how much joy I had, and how much more alive I felt. There is something about sunsets that always intrigues me and makes me want to watch them more and more and more, and there are never enough sunsets. On the one hand, I could witness how the perfect day ended, how every day ended. How yet another day of my life ended but wasn’t wasted. That is the key to watching sunsets. You see them, and you realize that they will happen with or without you, and the day will become the night, the night will become a day, and life will move on, and so should we. There is the right time to start and the right time to finish. There is this time in the day to let go of all the shit that happened before and get ready for a new beginning.
On the other hand, it makes you think and wonder how insignificant we are and how much natural beauty there is in this world, and it is there for you every fucking evening for free. It is a shame that so many people take these great events for granted and ignore them or miss them even when they really can, take twenty minutes off their evening and see that magnificent and perfect scenery. I always took my time to be there, watch yet another sunset, say goodbye to the past, and welcome new and better life.
There is enough suffering and bullshit in life, but there are also many really great things here. If you focus on the wrong things, that’s what you’ll be getting, a shitty fucking, miserable life. If you choose to seek out great things, you will be happy. Truly happy as people can be. You are what you think you are. Choose to be somebody better than that person you were yesterday and see how things will start to change. There might not be a perfect life in your daily existence. There might not be an ideal woman next to you. There might not be a beach where you live, but it doesn’t mean these things do not exist and that, if you want and seek them out, you’ll be in a better place with everything you need that makes you happy. And honestly, there isn’t much the man needs to be truly happy. It is always the little things.
Today I have turned 35 years old. I am halfway there, as they say. If I somehow reach 65-70, I will be retired. An old, rusty, angry retired asshole. 35 doesn’t seem as old as I would think when I was younger. I am certainly not a fucking teenager anymore, but I am young at heart, and I kept myself pretty damn well. Honestly, I feel much fucking better physically and mentally than I did at 25. Fuck 25 and 20, anything. That was the most confusing, weird, challenging, and one hell-on-a-bender experience I assume most youngsters have to go through. I am glad I lived through that shit and didn’t have to worry about it anymore. At 35, life just begins. I am now starting to think straight, getting shit done, reaching new levels, and securing a decent life for my family and me. There is a bunch of shit I’ve learned over the years, and that is what I want to share with you. I’d like to look back at these 35 pearls of wisdom and see if any of them hold up to my older age. Who knows.
There is no time like the present. As cliche as it sounds, it is fucking true. Do not wait for fucking anything or anybody. Do it now. If you fail, fuck it. At least you’ll know. If you succeed. Great, well done, motherfucker.
Time is the most valuable asset anyone has. Time flies; the older you become, the faster the time goes. Wasting time means wasting your life. Do not spend your time on stupid shit. Today you’re a child; tomorrow, you are on your deathbed. Think about all the time you had in life and what you did with it. Do you have any regrets?
Always rely on yourself and your own abilities, no matter what. It is great if there is someone to give you a hand. This point might not be much required for you then. But in most cases, if you learn to be independent and rely on yourself, you will be better off.
True friends are always with you in the worst situations. There will always be too many people to have fun with, but there will be very few or just one who will stick with you and be around and sacrifice anything to help you out. That is a true friend. Others should not be invited to any of your BBQs.
Always be in great physical shape. Workouts are not just to slim down or become the next greatest fucking bodybuilder. Exercises train your body, discipline your mind, and make the real fucking man out of you.
Sleep is essential. Do not fuck up your sleep schedule for anything. It is as important as your overall health. If you are sleep deprived, you are fucked, nothing feels great, life is shit, and your health will decline. It is just not worth it.
Intermittent fasting should be part of the daily ritual. There is more science to that than just simply losing weight. Intermittent fasting will help burn extra fat, clear your bloodstream, clear and sharpen your mind, give you more energy, and lower your fucking sugar, cholesterol, and all other shit roaming in your body, making you feel like shit.
Marry the right woman. Anything else before or after this point will be accomplished if you have the right woman to share your life with. The right woman is not the one that has the most enormous boobs or won the beauty contest. The right woman is the one that will let you be you, a better you than you have ever been.
There is no more extensive and stronger love you can experience than the love towards your child. You can love your mother a lot. You can love your wife or girlfriend a lot, but when you become a parent, your love for your child will overwhelm you unless you’re a fucking robot.
Always learn from your mistakes and others. Analyze your life, decisions, and misbehavior, and fix that shit moving forward. Nobody’s perfect, but the less dumb shit you’d do, the better your life will become.
Being a parent is fucking cool. People who never became a parent will not understand. There is nothing to be afraid of for people who are not yet parents. You will enter a new level of your life. And it will be a better life. A life worth living and struggling for.
If you want to have a great time, you have to have a great watch. Be a true gentleman and always wear a decent quality watch on your wrist. I don’t mean the expensive thousands-dollar brand, just a good mechanical, automatic, or even quartz watch. Yes, you have your phone with you all the time, and you have your fucking Apple watch or some other shit. Wear something with a soul in it, some mechanics that help you go through your life and show you the good and tough times. There is no better sound than the ticking of a watch mechanism.
Clean your room, clean your house, clean your desk, clean your life. This will help you to get organized and know where your shit is at all times. Also, you will look like a professional and a responsible person instead of a constantly distracted asshole who spends half a day trying to find his socks.
Read books, always. Books are the best friends, the best companions, the best source of knowledge, the best therapy, and the best inspiration. It is always hard to find time, but if you try, you will enjoy every second of reading a great book and always look out and dedicate time to reading.
If the book you are reading sucks, put it away. Not every book should fit your soul and mind at the time, and some might never fit your preferences. There are so many great books to read and discover, so if the one you are reading is not keeping you engaged, fuck it. Pick another one that might open a brand new world for you.
Meditations are essential. There is no more and simpler way to clear up your brain and calm down your horses than as little as five minutes of meditation. Just sit back, close your eyes, and listen to your breath. That’s it. You got it. Do that whenever you feel like you’re about to lose your shit.
Most people are assholes, and you will have to deal with them all your life. That’s it, just remember that.
Never be afraid of asking questions regardless of how stupid they might seem to you. If you don’t ask, you might never know for sure. You might do something stupid. You might make a big mistake. Just ask. What that fuck is wrong with you? Asking cost nothing.
Always be friendly and courageous to other people. Even if people around you are indeed assholes, there are too many of them anyway. Be nice, smile, greet, talk, and acknowledge their presence. They might not be completed morans. You might find a new friend that way.
Always stick for and help those in need, those who are weaker, smaller, older, or unable to help themselves. You might go to heaven for that. Why not pick up somebody else’s slack?
If you don’t like your job, don’t stick around, leave. Fuck those jobs that suck the living soul out of you. There is always another job out there somewhere. You’ll get it. And if that one will not work out for you, you’ll find another one, and another one, until you retire or die before retirement.
Do not buy into the job family bullshit. This is a corporate trick to make you more loyal and stick around, depend on that paycheck, while they fucking you in the ass, taking away your health, your precious time, your sanity, your personal life, and then once you are no longer needed, they’ll fire your ass.
Family should always be first. If you prioritize your job or anything else, chances are high you are an asshole, you will lose your family, and you will never know what it is like to have a great family, to begin with.
Forgive and be forgiven. There is no happy ending in always holding a grudge against anybody. If possible, face that shit straight, face-to-face, figure it out, talk it out. If you are willing to forgive, you will also be forgotten, no matter what you did.
Enjoy every little moment. You cannot live this life twice. You cannot take anything with you once you are gone. Life is tough and unpredictable; what you have right now is not guaranteed tomorrow. You might gain everything in one day or lose everything overnight. Enjoy the little moments and remember how great they are.
Music is fucking great. Great music is even better. Always listen to some great music, whatever your mood is at the time, whatever music genre you prefer, it is all good. Just listen to some beats and sounds and take it fucking easy.
People don’t always say what they mean and don’t always mean what they say. Know how to separate honest talk from bullshit. Learn how to read people, and read between the lines. It is a critical skill that will definitely help you in life, whatever you do.
Sunsets and sunrises are fucking awesome. Try to see as many of them in your life as you can. Whether it is the beginning of the day’s end, the sky turning colors as the sun moves up or down, making a new beginning, or finalizing yet another day, it is so powerful and beautiful to see that missing or ignoring them is stupid. It is also a very inspirational and thought-provoking moment you will never be tired of experiencing.
Enjoy a good whiskey or bourbon with ice like a real man. What can be better than that?
Spend more time at the ocean on the beach. It is always a relaxing and therapeutic experience, and all the bullshit in your life will go the fuck away shortly.
Do not follow the masses. Have your own opinion always. Masses are dumb for the most part, and it is getting old trying to catch up with Joneses. Fuck them all. Live your life.
Always dedicate time to yourself to be alone. If you are not comfortable being alone, you have problems, pal. Everyone has to get away, even a little bit, to be in their own mind and thoughts and recharge before jumping into another social, family, or job chaos.
Politics is shit. Always has been and always will be. There is nobody to trust and nobody to rely on.
Always put yourself in somebody else shoes. Be compassionate. It is easy to see things with your eyes from your perspective, but everyone is different, and if you want to better feel or understand another person, you’ve got to see the world from their standpoint.
Life is too short to wait for retirement. Live now. Enjoy life while it lasts. We all have a one-way ticket and never know when this will end. Fuck it all. It is not all that bad, after all.
No matter how hard your shit is right now, we can be heroes just for one day.
Somehow these “socially-accepted norms” were developed that should potentially set you up for the future and on the right path. First, they send you to kindergarten, then pre-school, then high school, then college, the two-year institution first, followed by a four-year institution, and then you’ll have to find an internship followed by a job. Then life kicks you in the balls regularly until you retire, if you are lucky. That’s already so much fucking agenda through the formative years and into your early adult life. Damn, I feel fortunate to survive. I feel sorry for my kid, who hasn’t even gone to childcare yet. In his Working Class Hero song, John Lennon sang, “As soon as you’re born they make you feel small by giving you no time instead of it all … and then they expect you to pick a career …” John Lennon coming out of one of the most successful, famous, and influential bands in the world, in his post-Beatles life, was clearly not out of touch with reality when he wrote these lyrics. This song sounds like a pain, raw, honest, the real deal, the real shit. John Lennon felt it in his heart even though he was lucky not to deal with those social routines and principles. This song is as relevant today as it was fifty or so years ago because certain things never change.
I am at that age and presence of mind where I start to analyze what my life has been, and there it is going, and this analysis never fucking stops. I’m halfway through my best young adult years of life, and if I am lucky to live the whole second half of it, I’ll be right there on the edge of the retirement age, fingers crossed. If there ever will be such a thing as retirement when I grow old. Who the fuck knows? I like to look back at my life quite often and dwell on the past, comparing different phases I went through and the times when I struggled or succeeded. It is fascinating to see how things have changed over the years. I am not the man I had been two years ago, and sure, not the same person I was five or even ten years ago. If he were still alive today, I’m guessing John Lennon wouldn’t be the same person he was fifty years ago either. We all change with time. Small or significant changes are always happening. That is the fact. That’s life. Life changes. We have to change. But the kick is that whatever bullshit you went through before if that didn’t kill you, could potentially make you much stronger and wiser and make you who you are today.
One thing that annoys me is realizing that my life is full of things that don’t bring me much pleasure but are required to have or to do. Like jobs, for example. Like mortgage payments. Like job security. Like regular meals for the family. These fucking things don’t come from thin air, and somebody has to go out there and hustle. That’s what I do. I go out there and hustle. I can provide for my family for the time being, but on the other side, that imposed routine slowly eats me alive from the inside. I know that majority of my time is spent on the job and job-related bullshit, and that takes my physical time and mental capacity and fucking chips away at my young creative soul. It gets to the point where I can no longer live the life I used to and do things I love because there is always so much other work to do. There are all those needs and wants that I want to make sure my family has so we have a little chance to live without counting every fucking penny. However, there are consequences and sacrifices that one should be taking into consideration.
Will my son love me the same if I lose my job and all those perks? Would I be a better father if I became unemployed and just spend all my time with him while I can, while he’s still small, while everything is fun and games? He might love the stay-at-home dad option, but I know better. I know that I would never be able to focus on happiness, and I would never be able to be fully happy if I knew that I didn’t have any fucking money behind my poor little soul. I do try to spend a reasonable amount of time with my family regardless. I love spending time with my kid. I also hate when I have to work late and catch up on work at home while he’s knocking at my door asking me to let him in because he just wants to play. He’s a two-year-old child, the pure thing. He doesn’t know yet what life is about. He doesn’t know yet what it takes to manage this adult life. How many times did I hear him crying in the other room while I was working from home, and I couldn’t do shit because I was on some stupid fucking meeting, working, fucking listening to some douchebags about shit that doesn’t even matter to me anymore. It tears my heart and breaks my soul. Somehow this life keeps taking these weird turns and twists, and I feel like if not this, then there will be something else that will eat away my life. There will always be the next pain in the ass to follow, whether you want it or not. Why in the fuck, in this free and independent world, do I have to sacrifice the most valuable things in my life for the sake of some sort of security which supposedly helps us ensure a better and worry-less life? This social norm has been fucked up for a while now. The more you try to achieve to be more independent, the more you are enslaving yourself into your job or what have you, and that shit slowly occupies all your brain and soul and takes away all your free and precious personal time. This is the modern developed world we are living in today.
You probably wake up early in the morning because most jobs start early. If you have children, that’s even earlier for you. It doesn’t matter that you are tired, and the few hours you just slept did not help much at all. It doesn’t matter that you worked until late night or late evening, and there is still so much shit you need to finish by tomorrow. You want it or not, but you have to get up yet again and hustle one more fucking day. Your eyes are shot and red and tired. Your face has only one emotion, tiredness. You get older by the minute. The breathing is hard. There is this internal pain and discomfort that you have to drag with you around all day and into the night. Shit never goes right. There are always issues and problems at work. There are always problems at home too. You keep all that shit inside, and the more there is of it, the more it hurts. You hurt so often and so much that it becomes part of you now. You are the walking pain. You wish you could just walk the fuck away. Just quit that motherfucking job. Walk outside, breathe in the warm summer air, jump into your car and go. Go somewhere. It doesn’t matter as long as it is far away. Get out, get outside, enjoy the free blue sky and the birds, and the time you should have to enjoy always, but you never do. Go to the nearest bar and have a drink. Celebrate yourself. Fuck them all. Fuck those jobs! Your job has been a drag, and it always will be. And it always takes more and more of your life until you become a fucking slave. But then you realize that the bills are due, the bank account is running low, and the birthday of a loved one or a child is coming up. Your friends invited you to go out somewhere, and you just can’t afford to have your family going through the fucking government assistance program just because you don’t want to ruin your life with your job. You reminisced the good old and young days when shit was easy. Back then, you still could fuck off and walk out and change this around easily. Now, there is baggage. Now there is a family and responsibilities. By now, you are tired of fucking living with nothing and for nothing, and you want just a little bit of joy in this fucking life. I mean, how long can a person live in such misery? How do we get to live, period? Not much, as you will realize. There is just a little bit of life hidden somewhere behind all these fucking hustles and struggles and misery and depression.
Most people live this miserable “working-class” existence their entire lives. Somehow that becomes normal. That becomes your pride as a working man, your family, your fridge, your mortgage, your financed car, and all that other shit that people cannot live without. To have it, you must own it or at least go to work to pay for it. There is always a payment in our lives. Nothing’s free, pal. Everything costs money, stupid, ugly, dirty fucking money which we all are eager to earn and spend our lives making, collecting, investing, planning, spending, and dying for. I mean, not everyone can become a millionaire who doesn’t give a fuck about making daily life possible. There are so many hedge-fund babies the world can handle, and the rest have to be fucking peasants and physically work their asses off until they die, proudly like true working-class heroes. Somebody has to work to support all those rich fucks and everybody else. Somebody must work at the gas station, restaurant, bar, school, post office, construction, garbage company, etc. Today, we can clearly see that the great and powerful developed world as we knew it is not all that fucking great, and powerful, and invincible, and fucking A, not so much secure from pandemics and wars and shortages on so many things. And this is just the beginning, and this is looking to go only a downward spiral from here. Naturally, I am mentally well prepared for the worst, but I don’t know what to prepare for exactly and do not have the slightest idea about what the next day will bring. Sadly, I do not see the future at all of the bullshit going on in the world right now. It just seems like darkness all around.
I struggled a lot throughout the years with and without a job, and I know that I complain about the job while I have one, but I also know that if I lose this job, I will be fucked badly. Like probably half of the country, I am about two missing paychecks away from living on the street. All the things that now come for granted will be at risk or disappear quickly. The beauty of waking up and not worrying about paying your bills, rents, mortgages, and cars is very liberating. I think I can write much better when I am stressed about life, and the job is eating is fucking driving me bunkers, but if I didn’t have a job, my creativity would be evaporated, and all my thoughts would be about going and making some money. This is how this society is set up. You always have to work, and you always have to have that fear that will make you compliant. The fear of losing everything by sacrificing the most valuable in your life, your life. Somehow I need to and am still trying to figure out how to make it all work. How do I ensure that I can provide for my family, that we all can afford to live and do things we love, and that the fucking job is not taking away too much of my time, focus, health, and creative soul out of me?
The system was built so some will always live well, and some should always struggle. So many of these fucking mentors and entrepreneurs have made it in life, and now they are willing to share their secrets with anyone for a sum of money, providing lessons, books, podcasts, and all that other shit. One thing they all say that is the same is that you have to sacrifice everything, all your time, friends, family time, sleep, health, but you have to push through all the hardship, and eventually, you will fucking make it. Great fucking plan! Here I am sitting and wondering, how could I have all those things without killing my fucking life and soul? I guess that is the million-dollar question to be answered someday. The sacrifice has to come from somewhere.
Usually, the sacrifice has to be on your side. There is always an opportunity cost for anything. You have to decide which opportunity cost you are willing to take. What matters most to you right now that you should be going after, and what can be pushed to the side. I haven’t found a solution for that yet. I am still struggling. The more time passes, the harder the struggle becomes. The only light I can see is to enjoy this fucking crazy journey along the way, live for now, and be simply happy. There is no fucking reason to save all those millions for your retirement. I honestly think that once I am retired, I will not need anything, or not much would be necessary. I will be just like another constantly annoyed, grumpy old man complaining about life, the younger generation, and politics. If I am to miss any of these important life events just because I had a lot of “work” to do, I’d be fucking damned. If I had to bankrupt myself of every little joy in life just so I can live longer, what’s the fucking point of living longer without joy? You can’t take anything with you to the other side. The opportunity missed is the opportunity lost. Somebody once said, think, if you were on your deathbed; what missing opportunities will you regret more? It is always better to try and fail than not to try and regret forever. There will always be some work to do. There will always be somebody else in your place. There will always be the daily bullshit troubles. But there will only be a short period in this life when my son is two years old, and he is young and cute and funny and playful as he is right now, and he will be with me most of the time, and we can play and enjoy our time together. If I ever miss any of that, I wouldn’t be able to get that back at no cost. At retirement age or any other, all those precious things saved for later would be fucking useless waste of time and life. Life is too short to wait for retirement.
To all the working-class heroes out there, whatever you do, whatever makes you a few bucks today, remember one thing, it will not be like this forever, and anything will not last forever. The system that is banding you over will always be this way. Life will give you chances; you should be able to see them and take advantage. There will always be Uncle Sam, watching you closely and ensuring you have paid all your dues, but your life was not meant to be fifteen dollars an hour-for-ever. There are opportunities, other jobs, hobbies, solutions, and alternative ways of making a living. If you just keep looking out and thinking and voicing your troubles honestly to yourself, you will be able to notice the changes and see the opportunity for every problem. Life never goes in a straight line. There are ups and downs. We all should be aware of them. You must be honest with yourself first. Even if you are a restaurant worker, that can be your happy place in life too. You can make good money in a restaurant business, construction, office job, writing, painting, dancing, or something else. It is never too late to try new other things. It is never too late to ask yourself, what the fuck is making me happy? What matters to me most? How can I move along in life and make sure I stay afloat? There are so many sunrises to see.
The journey metaphor makes more sense than anything because you only live once. When this is over, there is nothing else and no second chance. Enjoying every little moment is the key. It’s the only thing you can control and must take full advantage of. Remember one thing, this is a one-way ticket ride, and once it’s over, it is over. There are no sequels. What would you be sorry for if today was your last day? What would you change? How would you live your life differently? “A working-class hero is something to be.”
He looked all mean and tough With all that massive beard on his face And all the piercings, tattoos With all that rebel look and all, But on the inside, he was a kind man. He had a tender heart like a bluebird And when he smiled, The world stopped, and the sun came out. You would be wrong If you’d judged the book by its cover.
We all, at some point, grow up and go on with and into our lives. Nobody is an exception. At one point, we are newborn babies, and we know nothing, and we cannot do anything but find and suck on our mother’s tit. Then we grow up and develop as a person and learn the language and how to talk. We sound funny and cute early on, then with time, we master communication skills, behavior, and ethics, and we become a part of society. I never thought about this too much until I became a parent myself. I look at that kid, and I see a younger version of myself, and I often remember what my parents used to do and, what they told me, how they raised me. I looked at them, and I thought they were adults; they knew everything, could do anything, and knew how to handle any problem. Now, at this point in my life, I’ve realized that they didn’t, and neither do I. I am learning as I go to be a parent. I am trying to be a great father, and knowing my upbringing; I want to make some improvements for my child. Like any other parent out there, I want a better childhood for my children, and I want them to have a better life than I had. I don’t know how it will play out long-term, but I hope for the best. As much as you try as a parent to bring up a child and raise a great person, I know that there is only so much parents can do. There is also life outside the sweet home that is unpredictable and unfair in many cases. My son will be growing up with other children. He will have caretakers at the kinder garden, teachers at the school, friends outside school, and the family circle, and they will be part of his life as his parents. The fear of any parent is to let our child go into this mean, unfair, rough, and crazy world we’re living in and watch them struggle, knowing of all the dangers out there that the little young mind is unaware of yet.
My son was born in September of 2019. Oh, it’s been just recently, and yet it seems so far away now. That was the last year when life was still normal. It was the last time the world has been as I remember it my whole life. Six months later, the world entered the global pandemic, and everything went to shit. Everyone’s lives changed during the pandemic, but the best thing for me was that I got to stay home with my family and my newborn child and be close to them all the time. I was lucky to get a great chance to watch him grow up, see him becoming a person, make his first steps, say his first word, and all other great things that came along. We decided we would not be sending him to childcare because everyone was freaking out about the virus. So we all had some great family quality time from his birth. He’s been home his first two years and nine months with his mother manly while his father was going to work and providing. There were great times. There were challenging moments, of course, but for the most part, we all were home, safe, and together under one roof. That’s what matters the most, staying together as a family. We all knew that the day would come, and we would have to send him to daycare, school, college, and his independent adult life. The only thought about sending my son to daycare scared us. Deep in my heart, I felt like I was giving up on my child. It felt unfair. I never wanted to do it. I wished he could stay home forever. Thinking about that moment, he would be away for a day felt strange and painful. My heart was tearing apart, and I felt the pressure in my chest. We both did. This is the feeling you get to go through when you love your child.
This child, in his two years of life, has lived through so much already: covid, recession, seasonal allergy, viruses, economy collapse, elections from Trump to Biden, housing boom, four round trip airplane travels, presidential elections, black lives movement, country division, his dead’s first self-published book, dad changing jobs, the war in Ukraine, national gasoline prices at an all-time high, what the fuck else am I missing here? There were some great moments in his little life as well. He’s got recently a newly born cousin-sister, we bought a house and moved out of our parent’s place, he’s been to Florida four times, he’s seen many exotic fishes and animals in zoos, aquariums and in the nature, survived covid without even knowing he’s got it, painlessly, he’s a bright, good-looking kid with the most loving parents in the world. Why am I bringing all of this up? This should explain how well-oiled and a tight family we are and how much time we love to spend together. We never get bored of one another and love each other dearly. When you have a family like that, you don’t give two fucks about the world outside, even if everything around is falling apart. Together we all always stand strong. We hate to separate, even for half a day or a few hours. Sometimes my wife and I go shopping or out for dinner, and it feels strange to be without the little one after a while. Shortly after living in the house, we both start missing our son. This is the kind of relationship we have going on here. It is painful to stay apart, and it is an abundance of activities, noise, and fun when we are all in one room. I am beyond fortunate to have a family like this.
When I was growing up, my family wasn’t the best but wasn’t the worst either. It is hard to criticize my parent now when I am a grown man with a child of my own and having the same issues my parents went through when they were younger. I remember my upbringing pretty well, especially when my younger brother was born. My parents grew up in a different country, a different world. I mean, it has been a different universe back then. Post-Societ-Union Ukraine wasn’t the top destination for most people, and the economic and social environment wasn’t what you would call promising. They both had to work. They both worked hard to make some money to provide for us, two boys, two crazy fucking boys who would beat the shit out of each other for no reason except that we were living under one roof. My parents bought a house, something that looked like a condo; we had a garage and a car. Not a fancy car, but it was brand-fucking-new when they bought it, and it was one of those classic Russian-made cars that half of the country was cruising around. There was no internet, gadgets, computers, home deliveries, yoga studios, or therapy practices. People had to get around however they could. People had to eat their own shit to survive. People had to be assholes to one another because somebody would fuck you over if you were too kind. And trust me, you never want to be fucked over in that country in those days or ever. My parents never knew about a healthy lifestyle, traveling, meditations, couples therapy, yoga, or gym workouts. They had to carry all that madness inside of them. It wasn’t even a norm to express yourself openly like it is popular to do today. And then, once the patience was running out, the alcohol came into the mix, the fighting, the cursing, the screams, and long nights when I was in bed wondering how in the fuck this would end?
My parents weren’t horrible parents or bad people. We had all the necessities, everything a child might need to grow up healthy and not a spoiled brat. We always had decent clothes, a lovely clean house, plenty to eat, a decent amount of toys, and proper discipline. We knew when we should be quiet and when it was better to hide away or calm down and stop doing stupid things. Otherwise, my father’s temper would not last long before he’d start beating the shit out of us. My mother was beating him and driving him mad. In return, he would transition all his anger at us, primarily myself, just because I was older. So, I know what it is like to be a responsible person from an early age because no matter what if my father wasn’t in the mood, I’d catch the fucking swing. Sometimes beatings were so hard that I often thought if he ever was concerned that I could get seriously damaged? I thought, how in the fuck am I going to survive this beating? What was my fault in his anger management or mismanagement towards the world and myself? One thing I learned early on in my life was the following. I knew that if I ever had any children, I would never raise them as my parents raised me. I’d rather not have any children at all than have them and have them suffering as I did through all of the bullshit and fury between two completely opposite and not compatible in any fucking way individuals.
Today, looking back at my own life, I cannot complain. Others had it much worst than I. What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. I believe it did. I survived. I grew up a decent human being. I know the wrong from right, and I know what kind of parent I will never be for my children. I know what kind of family I always wanted growing up, and I am doing my best right now to raise my family in the best possible way. I am a father myself and have great relationships with both parents. They have no relationships, but I stay close to both of them, and we see each other at least every week. They love their grandson, and I genuinely believe that that little child didn’t just change me into a better version of me but also changed them, the old dinosaurs, which I thought would never change. I guess people do mellow out with age, and now watching them laugh and smile watching the little one, I can see the pure love and happiness in their eyes I wish I could remember them showing to me when I was two years old. I do understand their strict position in raising my brother and myself. I know how important it is to keep your offspring in check and ensure they know what’s good and bad and how they should act.
With all that said, I want to continue with my point of raising children and letting them go into their own life. The world we are living in isn’t the best, safest place to be. Honestly, it wasn’t the best and safest place when I was growing up, and, as it seems, nothing fucking changed in the last thirty-five years. We all have to make it somehow. We must ensure our children are safe, fed, and secure and have everything they need. It is a complicated and critical job to be a parent. It is even harder to be a great parent. We are all people, and we all have our flaws. We all must deal with emotions, jobs, family, health, economics, etc. A lot of times, that socioeconomic pressure is just too much to carry around with you, and you start bending, getting angry, anxious, and depressed.
On the one hand, we are lucky to live in a day and age where it is very easy to get the products and services you need with a few clicks on your phone. It is relatively easy to make money, and you can achieve anything you want if you are a driven individual. We have all kinds of meditation apps, gyms at every corner, yoga studios, healthy organic food everywhere and everything is pretty much extensible to anyone everywhere. This makes the burden my parents went through so much easier. If I had been raised in America, our lives would be much better and more manageable, and my parents would still be together. People don’t need much to be happy. People think they need a lot, but it isn’t much after all. Somehow life gets complicated, and people go crazy, trying to live up to some standards, making all the money in the world, and hustling and sacrificing their precious time and health for nothing. There are too many sacrifices people make for fucking stupid possessions, for a fucking status, better neighborhood, better newer car, larger house with more useless shit if that house. This constant dissatisfaction with what you have and never have enough is fucking driving people insane; it breaks families apart and brings a lot of anger, sadness, and depression. Who needs all that shit? I’d rather stay poor all my life, but I want to make sure I am close with my family, and we are all as one, and we are all healthy and happy and love each other.
It was a typical weekend day, and my wife, my two-year-old son, and I went to a farm nearby to do strawberry picking. This place brings me back to my childhood, growing up in the country, growing ourselves fruits, berries, and vegetables. Many families with children come over to a farm playground where many parents like us bring their children to pick the strawberries, hang outside, play with other children, and have a great family quality time. There is a barn with a stage and a local band playing classic rock tribute songs. There is a fast-food joint making the best cheeseburgers and organic real-potatoes fries. There is a bar serving adult beverages and an ice cream place with some great homemade ice cream. There is a lot of fun and games and always something to do for the whole family.
My son is a bit shy. He’s shier than most kids are, and he’s careful amongst others, but he’s a child, a two-year-old. After picking some strawberries, we ate local fast food, followed by some ice cream. My son was running around, discovering the new place, bumping into people and other kids. Then he saw the playground. He looked at it and smiled with the most innocent smile. He looked at me and said he wanted to go there. He spends most of his time at home under his mother’s supervision while I work. He doesn’t have many friends and is not often when playing with other kids. He’s too domesticated and lived his first two years and eight months in a pretty safe and protected home environment. We went up there to the playground, and he climbed onto the slider, and there were a bunch of other kids. There were way too many kids for that reasonably small place, and everyone ran around chaotically and maniacally like a bunch of little ants. They all wanted to play, go down the slider, and do some climbing and jumping. They bumped into each other and pushed each other not maliciously, just mindlessly like children always do. My son was one of the youngest there, and he was being cautious as he usually is. He climbed up the stairs slowly, then over the wooden block, and climbed onto the little deck. There was a tube that kids would crawl into, come back, and go inside again. My son did the same. He smiled, looking around, watching other kids do things, and he tried to follow them as I was watching him from the ground.
At one moment, I lost sight of him. I looked around and couldn’t find him. I walked around and shouted his name as I couldn’t see him up there. Then he came up and just stood there smiling. The other kids were running around, pushing through, screaming, and shouting. He stood there quietly, and I called his name again. He couldn’t hear me, but I got relieved that at least I could see him now, and he was fine. He’s having his fun with other kids. He stood there watching others, turned around, and leaned onto the wooded fence, looking down. He did not see me, and I was closely watching him and getting worried more and more about him not getting pushed over by other kids. I felt like a ghost watching him from the side. He probably wasn’t even thinking about me at the moment. It was his life, and he was enjoying it among other kids. I felt something strange then. I felt the feeling of losing him. I feared that if something happened, I could be there and could not help him. I know he needs my support, I know he needs my help, and also, he’s out there on his own, living his life. I felt that this is what happens in life when your children grow up and become independent, and they go on in their lives. My son stood there smiling and curiously watching everything around him as my heart was bleeding because I just wanted to snatch him out of there and hug and never let him out into this chaotic and manic world of ours.
“The Catcher in the Rye” and Holden’s philosophy on children entering adult life came to my mind. It all made perfect sense to me there. I felt like Holden, trying to catch my child from jumping into adulthood or his little independent life without me. I wanted to protect him from the outside world. I want him to grow up a great, intelligent, respectful person, which will happen someday. But now, I only wanted to keep my child close to me and have full control and provide complete protection over him. I realized that this is what “letting your child into the world” actually feels like. He was up there, not realizing that I was watching. He probably even forgot that his father was nearby. He was living these moments on his own, at his discretion. I felt it all in my heart. I remembered how my father was furious at me for going out and doing things with my friends when I was a child. He was always so overprotective that he eventually became a tyrant in my childhood. I wasn’t allowed to do anything because everything was some sort of danger to me. I felt his pain in my young father’s chest watching my son standing there alone with no support from me.
I know he will grow up eventually and become an adult, a real man, and a father someday. But also, he will always be my child, my son, and always will be his father. Today he is two and change, and his life is all fun and games. His parents do their best to provide and support him and ensure he gets the best childhood possible. At one point, he’ll mature and this fun will turn to anxiety, and the games will become survival. I have time before that to prepare him for life and all the ins and outs. I will not always be there all the time. I will not always be near or available, and he might not even let me know about everything that is going on in his life. I will be then like I have been at the playground, just another observer, a father ghost. I would just be looking out and hoping for the best while life will decide what turn to make and what challenge to bring up for him. I will be useless and helpless, and that thought is tearing my heart. I cannot keep him as this innocent little boy who is always protected and has his parents next to him twenty-four-seven.
We all have to grow up, and we all have to deal with life. Not all of us get a fair share, and not all of us will be able to enjoy the life ahead of us entirely. But we all have to strive for a better life. We all, as adults, have to be able to set our children up for a better childhood and better life than we once had. Times are changing but usually not for the best. There are more and more issues and threats, and the future is always unpredictable and mysterious. Somehow we all have to deal with it. At some point, we all have to let our children go on and start their own life. There will be a lot of unpredictable and hopefully more fortunate moments in their lives, but they have to take that ownership of their own lives and live it. My son will start kindergarten soon, the first step into his independent life without parents nearby. He will have to make it on his own. He will have to grow up, become smarter, stronger, and more independent. I believe that one day he will become a great father and have the same worries I have for him today. Until then and always, I will be his loving father, my wife will be his loving mother, and we will never stop worrying about him because we live our lives for him, and we live him more than life itself. Parents will get it. They know how it feels.
I walked toward the sunset I did not want to wait until it came to me. It was up there shining in my face While going down, Setting behind the horizon Like it usually does. The ocean roamed with waves coming back and forth It wasn’t calm, but it made my heart at peace. I’m peaceful here. I’ve arrived To the place, I can call home. I belong here. I am happy here. It is all mine, all that ocean, And all that sand and sun up there in the sky, Shining in my face, hiding behind the clouds, Hiding behind the horizon Shining in my face its last To let me know the day is over, And tomorrow will be another one. And nothing matters anymore before or after. I am here, and I’m alive.
Listening to the grand old jazz at the beach on The lovely sunny afternoon is better than anything. Watching the sun up in the sky go down Behind the horizon is the magic of nature. It will happen with or without jazz music It will happen with or without anybody watching. Ocean waves speak volumes, And the sea birds run around trying to find something They can eat in the sand. The sand is pure white, the purest cleanest white powder all around The comfort and the pleasure for both sea birds and my people walking around. There is the sky, the birds, the ocean, the waves, the wind, the fish in the water, And the women in bikinis. What else is there that you need? The sun will rise, and the sun will dawn And the day will change the night Life has its direction, and it follows that. Jazz music is a pleasure for my ears Beer is a pleasure for my soul, A cigarette is a pleasure for my mind, And the beach is where I want to be forever. The trumpet is whistling; the drums are drumming, The ocean moves with all its power. The sun shines brightly like there is no tomorrow. There is no reason to be hopeless after all. There is hope, and there is life, and there will be another day, Life goes on; the jazz will live forever, and the ocean, and the beach, And the sand, and the birds, and the sun, It’s only us that have an expiration date, Sooner or later, we’ll all be gone, Leaving this magic for somebody else.
It is hard to be angry when you are in a gorgeous place with great company. Everything seems to make sense, and things don’t seem too bad either. Somehow you get a feeling that, shit, this life isn’t too bad at all. They say you can’t run away from your problems, and the new location is not a solution. I could partially disagree with that statement for sure. I ran away from my “normal” day-to-day life, and now I am here, in North West Florida, enjoying the sunshine, the beach, and the perfect climate. My problems did not go away, but the way I think about them changed. They don’t stress me out anymore. They are not as important as I thought they were. They all will get some fucking solution at some point, and I will forget about them as soon as possible. A new setting makes you feel different, and the better your surroundings are, the more appealing it is for you and the better your entire experience becomes. Presently, I am in the best place on Earth, and I love it. It doesn’t mean that nothing else matters, but instead that I have so much pleasure in my life right now that all that stressful bullshit has no place in my heart anymore. Life goes on. Life is beautiful, and we always have to remember that no matter how fucked up it might get.
It is a beautiful sunny morning in Sarasota, Florida. At seven-thirty in the morning, the sun goes up, and you can feel its nice and warm presence. I woke up early even though I was on my brief vacation. I wanted to see and experience more of this place and its beauty. I want to be full of this new life experience that will not last forever, but I want to make sure its impact will. I go into my car around seven in the morning and drive off to the beach. Siesta Key beach is about seventeen minutes away from Palmer Ranch, where I rent. The traffic is very light in the morning, and driving through Midnight Pass Road feels liberating when just a few cars are driving on it. As I drive closer to the beach, I see people walking or running. I see people on bicycles and walking their dogs.
You can easily spot somebody who’s a professional runner. These experienced runners are always very much tanned, and they always wear a running uniform, black sunglasses, and sweat dripping all over them. They run consistently, with a very measured tempo and pace. They have earbuds in their ears and a phone strapped to one of their arms, and they breathe deeply and systematically. You cannot miss the professional runners out here. I am not an experienced runner myself, but I do that for fun and to trigger some new experiences in my life and train my body. It is also a great mental escape from everything. Whatever the situation is, I feel satisfied and happy, and that’s all I need.
There are very few cars in the beach parking lot, and you can easily park in the first raw parking space in the morning. People who park there usually are either early risers who want to enjoy the beach in peace or runners like myself who want to be healthier and fit and satisfy their physical needs by running a few miles in the morning by the ocean. I park my car, get my earbuds in and play some upbeat rock music. It has to be something energetic, something to give me a boost since I am still half asleep in my mind. I stretch my legs right there next to my car. I am always barefoot when I run on the beach. I love to feel the white, powder-like sand under my feet. It is the best feeling ever. It brings me closer to this environment and makes me feel more present. Also, I hate to get sand into my sneakers, which ruins them. And since I don’t like to go out and buy a new pair of sneakers often, in general, I am annoyed by shopping, I run barefoot, and I am happy like that.
Walking to the beach, I can see the light-blue sky on the horizon, with a slight pink reflection from the rising sun. The pale-white, super smooth sand is cold under my bare feet. This type of sand is always cold, but it feels even colder in the mornings. I don’t mind the sand. My mind is set on the sky and the contrast between white sand, light blue sky, and light-blue and green-ish ocean. There are no words to describe this beauty. This picture-perfect scenery takes away my mind and soul. I take some pictures on my phone, I want to always have this memory somewhere in my digital cloud, so I can always go back to it, share it with others, show them how great this place is, and make them a little jealous. I walk the morning-cold sand towards the ocean.
I see some people scattered around the beach this early in the morning. Everyone has a reason to be there. Some are getting ready for another beautiful sunny day, and they decided to set up their beach spot early. Some people are just walking at the shoreline, breathing the fresh ocean air, some are running, and some are on their bicycles. There are fishermen, cigar-smoking men, coffee drinkers, old, young, kids, and others. I don’t start running until I am on the shoreline, next to the water. I deeply inhale the fresh morning ocean air. It looks pretty light and easy on my lungs. I almost don’t feel any pressure inside. I feel easy and relaxed. I want to live. Once I reach the water, I start running.
There is something about running on the beach that is an entirely different kind of running and completely different physical training than, let’s say, running at the gym, or on the street, or running in nasty-cold Pennsylvania neighborhoods. I hardly feel tired from running, and I get to breathe the freshest, smoothest air. The green-blue water comes and goes and comes again, hitting the shore lightly and returning to where it came from. There is a light, easy breeze in the air, and it makes me breathe in fully. My music plays in my earbuds, but I can still hear the ocean, the wind, and the birds. It all adds up to this magical yet so natural scenery. I watch my way, and I run left and right, trying to bypass others on the beach. People constantly walk back and forth. There are always people on the beach, no matter the day and the weather. Some walk in small groups, some walk with strollers, and some are alone but not lonely out here. This is like an early-morning-beach club or something where everyone who decided to come out this time of the day belongs here and is happy to be part of this early-riser community. So am I, and I am not local, but I feel like I am. I feel like I belong here.
My run continues, and I watch people, I try not to look at their faces, but sometimes I do. I want to see who else is out here this morning. I want to see beautiful young girls running on the beach. I usually see very few or none of those. They all seem to be getting their beauty sleep. Elderly and middle-aged folks are the majority of walkers and runners. This whole town is predominantly elderly folks. Those folks made it in this life. Those folks have nothing else to do but enjoy their lives and this beautiful weather that holds most of the year. I don’t mind the elderly. I don’t mind anybody at all. I feel light jealousy towards them since they’ve accomplished something in this life and deserve to enjoy their retirement. I am still very early on this life journey. I still have to go through at least thirty-some more years of working until I can peacefully retire. But I love to get a chance and an early experience of what this life can be like. I want to get an early glimpse of what this life can feel like once there is nothing to worry about but go out for a walk or a run on the beach in the mornings or evenings. This place is the place. This town is the town. I love everything about it. I’ll take it with all the idiots, tourists, lizards, alligators, and turtles over anything in North-Eastern Pennsylvania. Sarasota is the only place where I genuinely feel like I belong here. I should be here. I am happy here at once. Nothing else matters here anymore as long as I have this sun, this warm ocean air, this beach, this white sand under my feet and all. Man needs so little to be truly happy. Somehow, we all take the long road towards our happiness and towards finding what it is that we want to live for.
The music in my ears plays loud, the ocean’s hum is still audible, and I run. I get this immense energy from the ocean. My run feels easy and relaxed. I almost feel no pressure running, and there is no struggle at all. I watched the ocean move back and forth. I ran into the water for a little while to get my bare feet wet, to feel this energy. It works. Getting my bare feet wet refreshes my body and mind, and I want to run faster. I want to run longer. I prefer this run never to end. I continue to move along the shoreline.
Under my feet, on my way, I see the white sand with all those footprints on it. I see all those muscles and the seaweed flushed over onto the shore. I watch the sky and the sun rising on my left as I run towards it, and I feel the wind brushing through my body and soul. To my left are all those buildings along the shoreline, hotels, rentals, private housing, and everything under the sun that keep people coming here and staying there. Some customers are so eager to get there early that they come down as early as seven in the morning. Most of them probably are here for the first time. Many visitors are here on their vacations, spending some time with family and children or even by themselves. I see young mothers carrying their children to the beach in the morning. I see the fathers following them with a little cart with everything they might need at the beach while here. Some people are lightly packed with just one bag and a thermos. There is always a thermos with some mysterious liquid that people would bring with them to the beach. I’m sure there are plenty with alcohol in it. Locals know they can drink freely here, and they don’t even try to hide it. The tourists will be shyer about it and still hide their beer and wine in those thermoses or plastic bottles. It all works. It’s funny how people behave at the beach.
People come here with their reasons and schedules. They sit lazily on those chairs or lay on their towels, watching, doing nothing but relaxing. They are finding their peace and calm here at the beach. Most visitors don’t and will not get up early to run. They love just to lay there and watch others do their thing. It’s very much entertaining that way. I don’t mind them at all. I love to watch them as well while I am running. I love observing other people all the time. I love seeing what they do, how they look like, who they are watching, what they are doing in general, and how they are spending their morning time. A great song came up, and I turned my volume louder on my phone. I have my car key in my back pocket zipped, and I hold my phone in my hand as I run. I control my music, my sound, and my channels. I want to hear only what I want to hear at the moment. I don’t want to suffer through another lazy, dull song. I want all the best tunes playing in my ears this morning. I want to have this music associated with this ocean, beach, palms, sun, tourists watching me running by them, and all those birds making so much noise. I run until the shoreline ends, or almost until it ends, and there is no way to go any further, then I turn around and run back.
My view is slightly different now on my way back, as I can see more of the water on my left and the shore which bends this way. I always want to capture these moments somewhere in my memory to bring them back to life when I’ve been out of here. I might seem like a local to most of these folks on the beach, but I am just like one of them. I am just another tourist here. It doesn’t matter. What matters most is how I feel, at my all-time best. This sunshine does something to me, I am sure of it. I feel like all my anxiety and depression, stress, and all that daily bullshit do not affect me anymore. I don’t even give a shit about my emails or work-related matters or anything. I just live. I just run. I am free as those birds in the sky. I am just enjoying every minute here in the lovely Sarasota. There is sure a reason why I’ve been coming back here year after year for over a decade.
Fifteen minutes into my adventure, I can feel the sweat coming onto my face. I wipe with my hand and continue to run. The light ocean breeze blows through me and makes it all feel alright. I feel fresh. I feel so alive. I can see the yellow beach guard’s booth, my starting point, and my finish line. With every minute, I get closer and closer to it. I don’t have a time or a distance goal for this run. I am doing it for fun. I am doing it from this point to that and back. That’s it. It’s simple. It’s almost too simple to call it an exercise. I enjoy it like I am enjoying my cold white wine with a nice dinner later in the day. I am already planning my next run tomorrow and the next day, and for the remaining of the week. I wish I could spend my entire life like that. I wish I could come to the beach every morning until my last day, run or walk, enjoy this beauty, breathe this air, and feel this sand under my bare feet. I am only here for a month. At least I can count on that. At least it is something. Something worth living for.
I slow down and get closer to the beach as I approach the finish line. My feet are warm and hot from running the fresh, not even cold, and ocean water refreshes me again. I stop, and I walk more into the water to get deeper, down to my knee level. I watch the blue-greenish water moving, the ocean breathing, the birds flying around making noise, and the boats far into the water doing something out there. It’s a perfect view. It’s the view that I want to enjoy all my life. This view takes away my breath and my mind. I stay there knee-deep in the water and watch it all. The horizon is clear, and I can see far, but I can’t see the end of the ocean. This ocean has no end. It doesn’t need to end anywhere. I stay there like that, motionless and thoughtful. I feel like I have to think about something important like the sense of life and the purpose and my goals and my career and family life, but nothing like that comes to my mind. I just want to be present and not distracted from this beauty by nothing else. My mind is blank, already up from my night’s sleep but still wondering, still processing in the quiet mode. I check my watch, It’s about eight-thirty. I look sideways. I look straight ahead into the ocean. There are more people now on the beach with every minute. I know I have to get back to my place. I know my child will wake up about any minute now, and I want to see my son’s beautiful sleepy face, hug him, kiss him, and start his breakfast for him. I turn around, and I walk back across the massive wide valley of sand towards the parking lot, towards my car. I am not looking back. I am just walking away. I know what’s behind me. I don’t need another sad reminder that I am leaving this place and might not ever come back. I know I will come back here at some point in time. I will be here again tomorrow morning, running again, enjoying it all. For now, I need to be with my family. I want to see them, hug them, kiss them, and have my morning coffee with them. They are all I have and all I love in this world. I am so fortunate that we are here together, living and enjoying this fantastic place, and we are happy here, like nowhere else. Life can be beautiful if you let it.
Love comes in and out suddenly It helps you live and helps you suffer It can punch you in the face. Love means holding hands together Love means to kiss Love means to smile, to hug, Love means watching each other grow old. Love means the wrinkles on your face And body changes, weather changes Everything changes. Love justifies it all. Love saves, love scars. Love is like the ocean, It could be endless And it can dry out. Love is like a highway It can last a while or end shortly. It’s a trip. It’s a trip that you take As long you move, loves moves. Love moves life. It can screw with your head It can screw with your life. Love can screw your head, your soul And your mind. You cannot live without it And sometimes it will make life more difficult with love. Love means loving somebody unconditionally Without receiving love back. It’s the hardest thing. It’s the hardest thing. Love is like a flower in the sand. It can grow through everything It can survive, but it might need some water in it. It needs passion, it needs the air, And it needs the purpose. What is the purpose of love? It’s your own thing. It is whatever makes you drive. It is what makes you take the highway. Jump through all the hoops, suffer, sacrifice, In the name of love. Love is lungs full of air, Love is a forest full of trees, Love is everything and nothing. You can keep love, you can hide it, You can avoid it, but it will always show up In your heart, in your face, in your smile, in your hair, In your teeth, in your bones. It can bite you, and it can bite others. Love has no limits. It can go on and on, rooflessly and endlessly, It can throw people off. It can mess with your dailiness, busyness, problemness, But it also can cure all of it. It all depends. Just like everything else in life, It all depends. Love is a free bird in the sky, Love is blue sky and ocean, and all the palms On the beach, All the cars on the highway, And all the trees up in the mountains. Love is old age, Love is young age, Love is sunset and sunrise. Love is a dark room with windows closed. Love is an empty closet. Love is running water in a shower. Love is a bed in the bedroom. Love is sex. Love is moving. Love helps us to leave, Love is here to stay. We all need a little bit of love For each of us in our lives. It’s easier this way, It’s better this way. It’s the best way out And the best way in.
I sit here at the famous hotel, top floor, overlooking Venice Beach, California. The balcony window is open, and the ocean breeze is coming inside. I can feel it, smell it, and I can breathe again fully I always wanted to be here. I always wanted to be in the City of Angels, create here, live here, and be part of it all. The smell of the beach and the ocean is always refreshing and alive. It makes me want to just be there, just lay there, watch, and breathe. It makes my soul tick. It brings in the Lada Del Ray melancholy with it. I can imagine Lana sitting next to me smoking cigarettes and singing sad songs. There are lights from the street reflected on the walls, and the noise of the boulevard below is heard. Cars are going back and forth at the night, the people roaming around the City that never sleeps. It is a dark and warm night tonight, and I always have my Red Hot Chili Peppers music on. They are California to me in sound. The fake beautiful people and the palms are California to me in actuality. Spiritually, I think it is a place for the lost to be found, find whatever is missing, create something new, grow, and achieve. It is the mecca for so many lost souls, many of whom really found themselves there. The first that comes to mind are all those actors who came over with nothing, and the minute they scored a successful movie, the big payday came around and then some more and they are never the same. This is a life that I believe too many are wishing for, but it is not an easy life to have, live, and maintain. It is a complicated and challenging task. Honestly, with all the time trying to become somebody else for money, one eventually becomes another version of themselves for life. People lose their own entity over time, and they just play the Hollywood game for the rest of their lives. They want to be part of it, be invited to the parties, get roles in the movies, get offers, make money, and spend money while selling their soul. That dirty fake acting soul is worth not more than any other man’s soul even less famous. Almost always thinking of California, I can imagine rich fucking movie stars with tons of money, huge houses, big fancy cars, and busty women with a shit ton of plastic surgeries. When I think about California, I think about John Fante, who came out there when it was fucking dark, and it was nothing around. When the wind would blow a ton of fucking desert sand into your room along with an ocean breeze. I imagine Fante sitting in that dirty, cheap hotel room on Bunker Hill, hungry, poor, with no money or prospects, but typing with a cheap fucking typewriter. Writing meant a different thing to him than it is now to 99.9% of douchebags with a laptop, just like myself, who blog or who are self-made-stupid-ass-fucking-reporters, etc. This used to be a place of nothing but the fucking desert. Many new-coming lunatics come over here to find and build their new life and build their American dream. Fante sat there in that chair hungry and desperate, writing letters to his mother in Colorado, asking for a few dollars so he could pay the rent or send the story out or buy himself something to eat. At the same time, he worked on his American dream. There was so much passion this guy had, and like so many others who came to California for the same reason, to make it out here. In life, it always takes too much of your soul, best years, and best health before you can actually achieve something. Before you can truly say, ok, I am fucking feeling pretty good about myself and my accomplishments today. Today’s idea of getting there and becoming the next best fucking actor or actress is very much a delusional thought process. Fante had to eat shit all his life to at least partially make it work for him, even if it meant writing movie scripts full-time instead of books. John Fante’s books will always be in my home library. I will cherish them always, remembering him as a writer who wrote so simply, so early on, with so much passion and authentic and true feelings that went almost unnoticed until his death. Charles Bukowski is my association with California in a poetic way. Charles Bukowski is the reason I write. Charles Bukowski is the reason I know who John Fante was. Nobody in the whole fucking California is more famous for his raw, authentic, graphic, and very realistic poetry of the time and place than Bukowski. People worldwide learn about California, skid raw, horse racing, drinking, and drunken shenanigans from reading Bukowski’s poetry and prose. His writing throughout his entire life was full of it. The never-ending drinking and drama with the women in question were the two major topics across his career and life that always played a key role everywhere Bukowski went. He wasn’t afraid to stay fucking hungry, drunk, jobless, hopeless. Still, with all that passion for writing and all that passion for becoming a famous writer, he kept writing and creating and eventually did become successful. Success felt like a tremendous reward to Bukowski even in the later years of his life. The man who had been one inch away from skid raw now had a wife, house, a new car, a movie based on his life, a bunch of new books, a great bottle of wine for dinner, and everything else the dirty old man can wish for. It wasn’t a shot or easy way out for him, but he still somehow did it. He made his American dream come true. The dozens of his books on my bookshelves represent my love and admiration for his writing. Drunk Bukowski roaming from bar to bar, from a hotel room to a hotel room, from one shitty job to another, trying to find the right place, trying to find the good life, the peace of mind, the right woman while always getting involved in some weird shit which came up with his poems or part of his prose. There was so much Bukowski in California that I don’t think it is possible to ever take him out of there. I am not even going to bring up the music bands taking their origins from California. It will take the whole fucking night and probably many books, not just a few pages to cover everything. California had it all and had it all great, too good. I am not sure that the good is still there, it could be, but we maybe don’t see or don’t know much about it. The good could’ve left that place a long time ago, as so many people did recently when the poor and the homeless started to run the town. The life changed, the dream was crushed for so many, and so many plans were deemed to never come true or be born in the first place. It is sad to see the beach with primarily lonely or homeless people. It is hard to see people angry at each other and only being pleased when they need to impress somebody to make their next move, get the part, win the role, the contract, you fucking name it. It is said to see the place of so many dreams coming true and so much talent and creativity going to hell faster than hell itself. California, where everything began for America, is now a place of survival for the fake egoistic people. On the other hand, a movement of homeless and poor, an invasion of the overpriced properties with those who didn’t make it or didn’t want to make anything… Everything so glamorous and lavish becomes sad, grey, and doomed. It does feel like I don’t have a partner and my only friend is in the City I live in, the City of Angeles, lonely and as fucked up as I am, and together we cry. Red Hot Chili Peppers got it all right in those lyrics. They are so California. There are a lot of illusions and bullshit in and about California for so many people. But there always is a real side to each story. The real side to the story is that not everything that glitters is gold. Not everything that has been portrayed to be so great and beautiful actually is so. The real side also is that I have never been to California, and there is no hotel, no ocean, and no breeze where I am hailing from. It is actually cold, dark, and gloomy in the suburbs of the East Coast. But that was my dream though for quite a while. I always wanted to come to California. I always wanted to californicate, whatever that means. I am writing about my dream and how I imagine and associate my California life. What would I feel like? What would I do there? I would’ve wanted to come over and be like Fante, a man without a dime behind his soul but so much to say through my writing. Still, there is a small room for rent, and there is a typewriter or a laptop these days. I sit and write like crazy for days and nights, and then I try to sell it somewhere so I can continue to do what I love and live off of my passion, my writing. There is a laptop that never goes to sleep, busy processing words. Like myself, there are cigarette butts all over the table and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. I am typing away, writing my thoughts and words as they all come to me. I create the writing that also creates something else for somebody. It creates a new made-up world that everyone can wander in and be part of. Welcome to my shindig, folks. This is the cycle that never ends. This is the life I wanted to have but no longer can. This would’ve been the story of the next greatest American novelist, poet, and writer, John Loraine, ladies and gentlemen. It feels great. It almost feels real for a moment. I can imagine myself living there, in the City of Angeles, and being part of that mess. The place is hardly changing a person. In most cases, the person changes depending on their surroundings, just like all those successful actors in Hollywood. They will never be the same regular folks they once were before they came over there. Maybe I will never be the same once I am relocated to California? Perhaps I would be stuck there and not be able to write anything? What if that City eats me alive and I am forever lost in its gloom? What if the writing does not require one to move anywhere? Why would you go anywhere else as long as you can get a quiet place to sit down and write? There are so many hours in the day, so many words to write, and so many writers and books to read. I think it is just the right time to sit down and write whatever you feel like and think about and whatever comes through. Bukowski once wrote, “what matters most is how well you walk through the fire.” Amen.
The poem like the sun that shines through everything, Shines through the darkness and blinds you. A sunny day is just a sunny day unless you Get a chance to enjoy it. Who needs all the trees in the world And who needs all the birds? We have jobs, we have beer, We have corporations and we have wars. You pick your battles sometimes but Most of the time they pick you And fucking beat you to the ground. The strongest man will survive, This is the game and somebody Is playing you all the time. It is too dark to see and yet There is just so much of it, So much of everything That with time it just doesn’t matter It becomes your new life. People change as they should Not always for their best, How can anybody be the best When we all are running on power reserve? The trees are blooming again And it is this time of the year When you just want all that shit Go to hell, and disappear. You just stare into the distance Thinking about nothing, With a cold beer in your hand, Not a worry about anything. Tomorrow will arrive As it usually does.
Times New Roman is a perfect font. I don’t know who determined that, but it is what they say, mostly a widely used font for writing. I write like that. Why the fuck not? I am walking through the clouds and writing my prose and poems like nobody’s business in this crazy fucking world of ours. Sometimes it feels like it is the end of the next closest thing to it as we can get, but then the next day, it’s alright. We’ll power through. We’ll live. We’ll write more books, songs, and poetry and create even more disparity in the universe because we are the people, and that’s what we do. That’s why we are here on this planet to fuck things up and then think about how to solve this. Cigarettes taste good even if they kill. Even if they fucking stink, we still smoke them passionately and on impulse because our bodies crave that chemical shit and our bodies need more of it. The hangovers are harder than ever as you age as you get older, and who am I to tell you? You should know that. It is a fact. My hangovers were so much more severe right after passing thirty. Is it the age that is not keeping up with the young spirit, or is it our desperate bodies that cannot handle that shit anymore? I am not a doctor, don’t ask me. I am just a writer, an addict, a drinker, a family man, a working man, and a writer nobody knows. I just write and spit and shit and try to help myself and hopefully others somehow. It is late March, and it is still fucking cold, and that fact alone is depressing as anything else is depressing in this life. I am sick of depression and being depressed. Fuck depression, I want love, I want crazy passionate sex, I want a beer with a cigarette and have no regret tomorrow or ever. I want to live my life how I want it, not how society, the church, or the establishment wants me to live my life. Why don’t they worry about their own shit? Why don’t they worry about saving this world from other things and problems? I am not a pessimist but rather an optimistic realist. The reality these days is not what anyone wants to live through. It seems like there isn’t much to do to save this fucking and completely insane world of ours. We are on the verge of world war three, nuclear war, a major fucking world pandemic, chemical war, and the war on genders and equality and race and veganism, you name it. I don’t know what to do with all of it, and neither do you. Trust me, you can have your opinions, as can I, but who really gives a fuck and who really is helping to solve anything? All we do is deepened that hole in the normality of our existence. I wish I could save the world. I wish I could write like Hemingway. I wish I could have the largest balls of them all. I wish I never spotted playing guitar. But I don’t, and more than likely, neither do you. So we just live our lives day in and day out, and we keep questioning the same questions with no answers and no solutions, and this has become normal. More often than not, we don’t even ask any questions anymore. We don’t even give a shit about any kind of critical thinking or whatever. All that music in the world, any fucking music one can imagine, is available to anyone’s taste at any point in time. I find it impossible to pick what I want to listen to most of the time. There are so many streaming channels on TV and apps and shit, and it takes forever to pick a show or a movie to watch. And then I do pick something; it is often some stupid shit that doesn’t make sense and is obviously a wrong choice and a waste of time. Halfway through, I don’t even pay any attention to it. Are we spoiled too much? Fuck yeh! The deficit and the scarcity or limitation of supplies create more demand for something. The law of economy. Works like a fucking charm all the time, every time. I wish we never run out of beer. Beer is important. Cigarettes are important. Music is important. Books are important. Lunch is way too fucking important. We cannot not have it. We can’t say no to these things. We live for them to have them, own them, and consume all of them. As Pink Floyd sings, “Welcome, my son, welcome to the machine.” Everything is being controlled by the system, everything is a machine of some sort or kind, and you and I and everyone else are part of it. We are the main ingredients for it. We make that shit work. We make that wheel spin and evolve and progress. We don’t even know why. Why is this the most annoying type of question? Nobody has any fucking clue or patience for it. It just hangs over us like a fucking brick occasionally hits us in the head when the time is right. Fucking time is always on the money. There is just, in general, so little time for anything. I have so many wishes, desires, needs, and hobbies I want to maintain, but I don’t have any time. We have the sun, but we don’t have the time, honey. Owning ten watches is not helping you to keep the fucking time still. It doesn’t help to keep the accurate time either. All these watches help us understand how fucking miserable and incompetent and powerless we are against it. Time will make us old and ugly and sick and eventually dead. Time is running fast as a motherfucker, with no mercy, no soul, and not even a thought about slowing down. You can throw away all your watches, but this fucker will never stop counting down. Then you will look into a mirror, and you will see another person there. That face looks familiar but is not what I feel like. It is not what I imagined I look like. It always looks much worst in the mirror than we think it is. Am I too optimistic about myself and how I look? Or maybe that fucking mirror has no soul and has no problem showing me the truth? I know I do a lot of stupid shit intentionally, not in my favor, but I always have an excuse. I always have something to defend myself with. I always have something to stand by. There is a reason why I drink something every day. There is a reason why I cannot ever quit smoking cigarettes. There is a reason I am a nervous fucking wrack many times. The reason is in that fucking mirror staring at me with a tired, confused, and disappointed face wondering. This is life, I’d say. Life has been getting to me. Life is happening. Life is what it is and time is what it is, and we are who we are. We can change, I’m sure. We should be changing and constantly evolving. I am more than convinced. But what is the point of it all? What is the reason we are all here alive and wondering, making mistakes, and trying to ruin every fucking thing we touch? Why the world is set to self-destruct? Can we all live in peace and harmony and mind our own fucking business without any major consequences and conflicts? Even beer makes more sense right now than the time or even the whole wide world. For fuck’s sakes! People don’t really need much of anything. We all just need to be more human. Even fucking Jimy Hendrix on my Spotify playlist makes more sense after some fucking sixty years later. I hate that these beautiful long Saturday nights with music, beer, and books and writing are never lasting long enough. They end. They end soon. Too soon. I can smell tomorrow in about a few hours when I wake up with a swollen face from cigarette smoking and beer drinking the night before. My whole experience of freedom and I do whatever fuck I want to do will be over. It all will become past. And tomorrow will be the future and the present and eventually the past. Even the small great experience in your life is worth more than having nothing. All these little moments are all worth it. They are worth living for, waiting for, creating even more of them in the future. I live my life for an experience. I spend my money, I don’t save as much as I probably should, but I know why I do all that. I am separating myself from the materialistic things to have more space for the spiritual experiences, to have a better life experience, to enjoy this short and dull fucking life as much as possible. I am not a baller. I am far from it. I am just a regular dude, trying to raise a family, become somebody, find myself, be a great father and a husband, trying to make all the right moves. I want to be a writer and write. I write as much as I can. I write as much as I have an opportunity to do so or as much as I make myself sit down and write. But I do. I try. I write. I want to make it happen for me, and I think that with time and perseverance, I will fucking make it one day, some fucking day, I surely will make it all happen for me just like I wanted, just like I planned. There will be a nice house in Florida near the beach, maybe with a pool, always nice weather, family near me, money in the bank, nothing to worry about, a few cars in the driveway for any occasion, and books all over the house. Why the fuck not?! For now, it is just a dream, just my imagination. Just a thought, food for thought, and fucking wish of mine, ok? Can a man have a dream? Can we all dream about something great for ourselves? I’d say, fuck yeh! Knock yourself up. Fuck yourself up. Whatever. Yet another bottle of beer is empty, and it is past midnight, and I know tomorrow I will be sad and tired and hungover, but I feel so alive tonight. I feel so inspired. I wrote all this shit in about half an hour. There is just so much of this shit in me tonight. I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want this stream to end. I want to go on. I want this night to last forever, like a high school ball, a wedding night, a birthday night, or something else you don’t want ever to end. Fuck there is always so little time for everything. There is too much time for work, daily chores, misery, depression, problems, and payments, but so little time and opportunity to actually enjoy your fucking life. I want to live. I want to enjoy my life as I want it to, as I chose to enjoy it. Even if it means waking up with a hangover tomorrow. Even if it means fucking open another bottle of beer. I am going to, and I will stretch this night as long as I can. Fuck everything. How many times I will be free and thirty-three or four or five or fifty? We make our choices, and we should stand behind them. We should own our shit, good or bad. This is our life, and we should live it to our best potential. What is potential anyways? You figure it out. I am just writing. I think I have potential. We all do. Life will show how full of shit we are as time goes by. If six turns out to be nine, I don’t mind, nor does Jimy Hendrix. Jimi Hendrix is really fucking on fire this night in my earbuds. I realize how much I’ve missed some great classic, fucking blues, rock music. I can’t have enough of it. The fucker was twenty-seven when he died, and all that music he created, played, and recorded is purely amazing. It all still sounds too fucking great if you listen today. None of it got old. None of it got irrelevant. It only gets better with time. Something tells me people don’t get better with time. Something tells me otherwise. Before people had this freedom to express their opinions worldwide on social media and elsewhere, there was just so little bullshit in the world in general. Life was so much better. Now everyone is walking around with their fucking phones checking shit out, posting this up, commenting, hating, shitting, crying, fucking around on the web, polluting everything with garbage and nonsense. And that’s what we’ve become. Walking zombies, living in our own little virtual universe shitting on each other. Even the great benefits of social media are so much suppressed now that they are almost inexistent. Life was better when all that bullshit took place in a small circle of friends or family behind a kitchen table. But the Ginnie is out now, so go fucking wonder where we go from here. I guess I know why I love sitting here in my basement until the deep of the night, listening to my vinyl collection, reading books, and drinking beer. It feels so much more organic and natural and so much real and meaningful. This is what I love, the music, the books, the writing, the boose, and the smokes. Men don’t need much to be happy, honestly. You would not be happy if you got it all. You will not be happy if you have nothing to your name. But you still have some chance if you get at least part of it. I think I’ve figured it out. I think I’ve got it. Another beer, another hour into the night. Another night of complete indulgence and what I like to call have fucking fun and joy. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. This is the saddest fucking reality ever. I wish I knew the day, the last day, I’d prepare myself better. I’ll be or maybe not be anything I am not today. I think I like being myself, or I think it’s cool for the most part. I am feeling pretty cool right now. It could be the beer, but I am feeling pretty fucking great right now. I’m a voodoo child, according to Jimi Hendrix. Damn, I’ve missed this great fucking music for such a long time! There is a shit ton of great fucking music to listen to. I’ve lost my focus, but I am finding my way out of that hole. Life is not all that bad. All in all, at least I get my chance at it. At least I am doing something, something good, something bad, something too much, and something too little, but it is my life. This is my scenario, my play, my fucking game, and I own it. And the wind whispers, Mary and I wrapping this mother fucker up. See ya later fuckers. Cheers to the good times and good and meaningful life. Let’s make this world a better place, even if it means drinking more beer, listening to more great music, and reading more of the Hemingway books. Jimi Hendrix lives forever.
I am here. I stay up When the night changes the day and The day changes the night. I watched it all happen In front of my eyes. I don’t have to go anywhere I just sit in this small room With the closed shades wearing My sunglasses waiting for The answers. I know tomorrow is another day And I think it will be different While I hope not much will change Because I like it this way. This is good. This is simple. This is familiar. This is me in a nutshell. Those who write poems Early in the day, at the Break of the day, Always see When the day changes the night As it all begins all over, For those who read poems. One more time, just like It has been before. There is darkness to the day And it feels lighter at night. My words lined up in my mind and I need to take them somewhere On the page, As I write, as I try, as I struggle As I think of the next line And the next poem And the next day. The day is changing the night again And I am drowning in this room Like I did the day before.
War. The most disgusting and terrifying three letters in the English language. The war is here. One of the largest and most terrible wars since WW II is happening today in Ukraine. It is so strange to acknowledge it. I still cannot believe this is real. It seems like 1941 is repeating itself. What the fuck went wrong? How did we get here? The war is not only for Ukraine. This war will determine the destiny of the entire world. The whole civilized world is nervously watching this battle of good and evil and hoping it will end soon. The world is supporting and helping by sending their weapons, aid, money, but they don’t want to physically interfere by sending their troops in. It’s ok, world; Ukrainians got it. They’ll do the job themselves. They are strong. They will win. I believe in Ukrainian people. These are my people.
The talk about the possible russian-Ukrainian war used to be a science fiction kitchen table talk some ten years ago or so. The idea of putin invading Ukraine was floating around for some time. Ukrainians always knew that these neighbors that call themselves brothers are just a bunch of fucking bullies and assholes who cannot wait to dick-punch them in the most unexpected moment. It was always a possibility because of that freak in the Kremlin and his ambitions and dislike of Ukrainians as a nation and culture. Somehow, another nation’s identity is not a consideration for him, but the delusional dreams about reuniting the Soviet territories have been hunting that motherfucker for a while now. Since its independence, Ukraine has never lost its ties with Russia. That fucking older brother was always near and dear, and fucking pressing and bullying and aggravating. And as usual, constantly undermining and disrespecting Ukraine and its people and culture. Hence, their anti-Ukrainian propaganda that worked so damn well made the Ukrainian look incompetent and unable to make any decisions or break free from Russia. They believed that Ukraine couldn’t live without that fucking bullying older brother. Ukrainian always felt different about that. Ukrainians were always to blame for their blunt love for Ukraine. So many racist jokes were created about Russians and Ukrainians laughing at the nature of each culture and the nature of their people.
Today the world changed, and it changed forever. There will be no more jokes about Ukraine. There will be no older bully-brother soon. Nobody will ever confuse the two countries and two nations with one another. Now the whole world can see the difference. Day five of the war ended, and Ukraine has shown great strength. Even these fucking bullies are shocked to see how much more substantial and organized and with a fucking style Ukrainians are killing them on the invaded Ukrainian soil. This so much smaller country with almost un-existing military just some eight years ago is standing strong and tall and is defending its territory so fucking brave that even kids want to join the army to fuck some Russians up. I remember days of not so long past when guys would pay up or make any lame excuse to avoid the military. Joining the army was for those who had nothing better going on. Most kids were too cool to go to the military. It was the thing of the past. The army was something their dad or grandfather did when they were young. Today, we see these huge lines to the military recruiting centers, just like some fucking Black Friday sales lines at the mall. Everyone is there, ready to defend their country because nobody else in their place would. The patriotism is in their minds, it’s in the air, it’s in Ukrainian blood running fast in the tense vanes, pulsing to live, to survive. And they know that they can willingly die defending their country and for the safety of their land and people. It is an outstanding attitude. It is what the world has been lacking for some time now. It is something one must do to prove to be a decent son of their country who will be glorified and respected forever. These people are willing to take the bullet for their country, defending their nation against the enemy. This is the most honorable death one can die. It is still a terrible death but nonetheless. One will become a hero. A hero for their people.
Who would ever think that we, as the world, will ever get here? I did not. I was hoping for a rosy future. I guess I should not be hoping for fucking anything anymore because one never knows what’s gonna happen the next minute. We were almost fucking done with that fucking pandemic. That little fucking omicron was almost going away, and now, who gives a shit anymore? We should know better that there always will be something else to replace the existing problem. The world will never run out of problems. It will run out of peace, fresh air, food, supply chains, russian products, maybe even idiots, but not the fucking problems. Somehow, somewhere, we need to learn to live our lives as best as possible and deal with all that bullshit as best as possible because there is no other life; there is no happy ever after. This is the end after one ride. One-way ticket. No more sequels in this motherfucking life. How we spend our lives will determine who we are as individuals. And what did we do? What did we do to get where we are now, all fucking wondering if there will be another day? This war in Ukraine is not the war in just the Ukraine. It is the big russian Fuck You to the entire civilized world. All of us motherfuckers were dared to step in and help Ukraine to defend itself. And rightfully so. Ukrainians proved everyone’s worries wrong. However, there are consequences. People are dying, neighborhoods and infrastructure are being destroyed, pollution is through the fucking roof, tanks and military equipment are burning on the streets, dead russian soldiers’ bodies scattered on the streets of Ukraine everywhere, whole or in pieces. I haven’t seen too many dead people, but they always gave me chills. This time, looking at the dead enemies, I feel nothing. My love for my country is so big that the anger I feel as a result of invasion is on some fucking highest level. It made me heartless, and all I do is just watch the Ukrainian news. I can only imagine what people feel like out there whose homes were destroyed, whose relatives died, whose cities were fucking destructed, who’s watching it all and living it all and sleeping in the fucking bunkers with their kids and all that trauma! No wonder the lines at the army recruiting centers are so fucking huge.
I remember a quote from my childhood, a true friend will always help you when you are in need. I grew up with many other kids and young adults and people of different nationalities, skin colors, religions, etc. They all, on some level at some point, were called friends. We are still happy to see each other and share a few updates when running into each other somewhere. But that is not true friendship. The true friendship is the thing that happens when you are alone, in pain, in your trouble, in deep shit, and there is a person, a friend with you regardless of their own issues, that person is there for you, even if it’s just to be with you, shoot the shit, drink beer or smoke a cigarette together. A true friend will wake up in the middle of the night to help you out with whatever it is. A true friend is somebody who will always, and no matter what, sacrifice their own livelihood, even sacrifice their own lives to help you out. This true friendship we see amongst Ukrainians right now. Today, people who were traditionally so accustomed to shit on each other or just plain ignoring each other are fighting together against a common enemy. They trust their lives to one another. Many of them might not even know each other at all. But it doesn’t matter. Sometimes the evil had to come down so the people could realize that they need to stay together and help each other and appreciate each other because their lives and the destiny of the entire country will depend on that relationship. In today’s case, the fate of the whole fucking world might be determined in this war. We see who has been supporting Ukraine right away, those who hesitated, and those who turned their backs because of their own insecurities. These are not true friends. We also see the Ukrainian president who used to be telling jokes on the TV just a few years ago who is now together with his people and his country helping and trying to protect his nation and his people. There are no more jokes but the power of soul and mind and the love for your country. That is the bravery that most world leaders could fucking die and never show. The new world history is being written now by Ukrainians at last.
I haven’t visited home in about four years. I haven’t lived at home for the last eighteen years. I call home another country today, but my soul, mind, and brain cells are so fucking Ukrainian. Sitting here and watching TV, a 24/7 live news stream from Ukraine, I am going fucking crazy over this disaster. Feeling like there is something I could or should do, and I am not doing shit. It tears my heart and soul and gets into my poor dumb head. I am thinking more and more about Hemingway, who joined the US army in Italy in 1918, and it wasn’t even his fucking country to help out, and he wasn’t even fighting. He was just an ambulance driver, helping around for Red Cross. But he had that presence of mind and courage that many lacks today. We see many people running away from war, trying to save themselves, and escape. And here is this guy who wants to join the military just for a fucking experience or because he is just ballsie as hell. And he proved some little bravery there as it seems, and he was severely wounded at the battle. That fucking situation gave him an idea and the theme for his upcoming, one of the most famous and the most successful books he ever wrote, “A farewell to arms.” Sometime later in his life, he returned to a battlefield to cover a Spanish Civil war and showed even more balls there. The fucking famous writer who commanded a militia to fight the nazis! What a fucking man all around! I wish I had ten percent of his balls and could do shit like that. As weird as it seems to relieve Hemingway’s youth, this is perfect timing, living through yet another war, not much different from what he went through. There was just recently a young guy who blew himself up at the bridge to prevent Russians from coming through. This is true heroism. There is for you a real-life of “For whom the bell tolls” happening as we speak. History does indeed repeat itself, and those who don’t know it is deemed to repeat it. Aren’t we all? Isn’t that some sort of fucking weird-ass deja vu? It sure seems like it is. And we are living through it, watching the history being made in front of our eyes by some small, unknown, always undermined tiny nation.
I haven’t been that much depressed since ever. It’s day nine as of this writing, and the war is still on, even more, destructive and nastier than ever. Today, March 3rd, the fucking Russian orks fired at one of the largest nuclear plants in Europe, located in Zaporizhaj, Ukraine. What is the fuck is wrong with people? Are they even humans? Who are those dumbfucks, and what brings them here? Is it the paycheck? The army rank? Respect of the ork nation? Stupidity? Fuck if I know? Fuck if they know for sure. These russian fucks might now launch the nuclear missiles, but they might as well blow that fucking nuclear plant up, which could be ten times larger impact than Chornobyl.
Where is God right now? Where are all the saints? Where is anybody who can fuck these fuckers up?!!! I am not superstitious, but certain things are freaking me out more and more. I did notice how time always flew by so fast. They say it’s the world coming to an end. Today, with all that fucking bullshit in the world and Ukraine, it sounds true as never. Fuck. I want to live. I want my son to live. I want my family, friends, and everyone to live, except the orks. They can fucking all die the worst death possible. They deserved it. There should be no mercy for them. Is the end of the world near? Is it coming? If it is, how will I know? What can I do? Can I save the world? Can you? Is there anything anybody can do? Who the fuck knows?
If the world ended today, it would be a shame. It would’ve been a very premature death to all of us, and it would be just like leaving everything up hanging for nobody else? I have been enjoying my life more every day for at least a few years. They have been incredible few years. I have learned a lot, achieved a lot, and improved a lot. Not waking up tomorrow or just disappearing from the face of the Earth would be just fucking sad. It is not the war in Ukraine. It is not just another fucking stupid war. We don’t know the consequences, but we can see that everything is batshit fucked up. If the world ends today or in any very recent future, it will just make everything, my life, your life so fucking dull and meaningless. Why have we even lived, to begin with? What are the purpose and the goal here? And is life only about suffering, stress, depression, and anxiety? Why can’t we all just live together well and be happy? This is a billion-dollar question right now.
I have seen so many war videos in real-time that I think I am there. I am part of this war somehow. Burning tanks, dead people all over on the ground, dead soldiers’ body parts scattered around the neighborhoods, and destroyed infrastructure, houses, hospitals, and everything. Everything looks like a fucking apocalypse there. I think about it too much. I cannot stop watching or listening to the news; I am so depressed I cannot even enjoy anything anymore. Fuck. Fucking russian FUCK! Who gave you permission to fuck with people’s lives like that? What is your fucking end game anyway? Do you really think anybody would fucking respect you afterward? All major businesses worldwide cut russians out of their relationships and their wealthiest people. There is no future. There will be no light. There will be no tomorrow. You will not bring the soviet union back again anymore. It is not possible. Nobody gives a shit about this anymore. The world has moved on, and so should you, you dickless sick in your head FUCK!
I wish the war to end. I wish for a victory for Ukraine. I wish for the death of the enemies of the modern world. I hope we will spend some more time here on this planet. I wish we could but not the orks. Orks must fucking get extinct The Mordor must die. I wish the world would be more intelligent. I wish the world have learned something from past mistakes. We all should give the peace a change right after destroying the evil. To quote the soldier from the Snake island – “russian warship, go fuck yourself!” who responded to an approaching russian ship telling them to surrender. This clip is hilarious but it shows the attitude and the great spirit of the Ukrainian people right now. Ukraine will win. Ukraine will be forever. Slava Ukraini! Gerojam slava!
It’s ok to be alone and not to ask questions. Sometimes the most important Things are left unspoken. We all know what it is, but we don’t say it aloud. People are like islands; they all have so much in common But they are much different on the inside And there is all this water between them That it takes a boat to go from one place to the other. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to arrive Where you wanted. And it takes forever to reach somebody’s mind or heart So distant and so foreign and yet so familiar.
People are at their best when they are alone, Then they put on the mask and walk outside Hiding their souls and pretending not to be themselves anymore. It is a hard game to play, and rules change all the time. We don’t create the rules. Somebody else does. We just follow. We don’t question. We keep it all inside unanswered and just Like the bird locked up in the cage, beating up against the walls Trying to get out, but it’s not possible unless Somebody let it happen. The sky is so close but so far away at the same time and We all can see it, but we cannot touch it.
We can only come closer to it in our dreams. Dream little people, dream, while the night sleeps While the day’s done, until the next time, Until the next day, when you will hopefully See the daylight again. You will put your mask on and Go out there into the world of mystery and questions, And into the unspoken thoughts and dreams, Trying to survive again, trying to reach the sky, While drowning in the waters of everyday life, More and more, deeper and deeper Until there is nothing else to do But to get to the bottom at peace With peace of your mind.
“Where is this fucking world going?” He sat by his kitchen nook with his coffee, thinking. “I can’t even remember when it all began to go South. For fuck’s sake, what kind of life this is anyway?” Jack’s face was looking tired. It was tired of too many things. His sleep was poor, drinking too much, too often, writing at weird times and hours or not writing for too long, abandoned by his family, having no or very minimal human interaction, all those things. He’s been getting older by the minute, and he felt like it. It was that face in the mirror every fucking morning that he had to cringe at every time. His soul might have felt younger, but the face showed it all. There were too many messages written on it, too many scars. He could read them all too well. He did it to himself in a way. It was too late to judge now, and who was there to judge him anyway? We all make mistakes in life. For many, life was a mistake. For many, there was no life, just a miserable existence. For some, it was a fucking paradise with the sun shining all the time. He’s had it all and then some.
What does money mean now? What does fame mean now? What do these books on the shelves and beer in the fridge mean now anyhow? He looked around with a depressed look on his aging face. The grey was now showing more in his hair and three-month beard. His eyes were sat deep and looked small and tired. It was impossible to go back in time and fix things. Fuck, if only he could do that! Everything felt great at the time, and nothing was to be changed. Years later, more and more of these revisioning thoughts were coming to him, stressing his hangover brains. Maybe, it was his drinking. There was plenty of that. There is always plenty of drinking and hanging out when things are swell. Things were going well for a long time. He was basking in his fame, and his books were topping all the charts back in the day. He still had his fans, but he didn’t have his passionate soul and youth anymore. That’s life, he thought. That is my motherfucking life.
Sipping his coffee, he stood up and walked up to the window. The picture outside the window was pretty much reflected what he felt like on the inside. It was late January, and it was freezing cold. There was so much snow, and he never bothered to shovel it. His backyard looked like the place where nature goes to die. All these naked, empty, dark trees were standing there motionless. Everything was stripped from its green wealth and beauty. That fucking snow covered everything, hiding the fucked up ugly surface underneath. This was a rough winter. This was a rough life.
He drifted in his memories back to when his family was living there with him. What a cheerful great old days they were! Where did they all go? He saw his wife planting flowers and decorating the backyard. He saw his young son running around, playing with their dog. There were smiles on their faces. There was laughter and joy, and there was his family. There was a feeling of being alive. He was busy working on his next novel all the time, but once he stopped writing, and just like right now, he looked through the window, and he couldn’t take his eyes away. These were his favorite people in the world. They were the people he was supposed to keep around, support, and love till the bitter end. That was the best part of his life passing by him while he took everything for granted and got busy with everything else. Somehow you feel like other responsibilities need more attention, and you keep distancing yourself from the ones who truly love you and need close to you. There are usually more and more responsibilities and other shit that pile up over time, and eventually, you end up old and broken and alone. Sadness took over his mind and soul. The tears rolled up in his old eyes. He felt the heart trembling and the pain inside. Fuck, he said, what a fucking asshole am I? How could I miss out on them so much? Where are they now? I guess you can’t go back in time to change anything. I think this suffering is permanent.
Jack’s wife divorced him some five years ago. There were a lot of problems between the two. Jack’s writing career picked up. He was always in the center of everyone’s attention, and it took the best of him. He was never around, and he was always busy with meetings, writings, appearances, new book projects, movie projects, all that kind of shit. On the one hand, it was great to see him succeed; on the other, he appeared to be more and more away from his wife and family, and eventually, when he was around, he wasn’t sober. The constant glorifying of his works and celebrating his successes led him to drink his ass blind. That was never a plan. That was never supposed to happen.
Jack remembered meeting his wife when he was a young and starving writer. They went to the same school, they had known each other for a long time. It has been one of those moments when you realize, damn, how come I never saw this in you? You are so beautiful and caring, and I cannot stop thinking about you. He offered to marry her right there in the dorm room, and she said yes. Jack smiled again, and his stone face moved awkwardly. These were the good days of his life. These were the best days of his life. He was young and ambitious. He wanted to become a writer, and school was just a distraction. It was just another social norm to follow while establishing his writing career. The college was supposed to cover up for his writing time while working on his debut masterpiece. He finally got it. He wrote that first best-selling novel. Everything started to change around him right the next day after. He barely graduated as he became famous. It felt great. It felt rewarding. They were both happy about his success then. They’ve shared their joy and excitement. Around the same time, his wife got pregnant with their son, and there was another great reason to be happy. Jack was writing on the next book.
If I only knew what that early success would cost me. Jack was desperate. Now, on the edge of his life, he was lonely. He was going to be a successful writer and provide for his family. He’s lived his dream life. But now his family is gone, his success in the past and his writing stalled for an undefined period. Life is a bitch. Life always keeps fucking you over. You have to pick your fucking battles more carefully, pal, he said to himself. Who gives a fuck about you, old man, anymore? His coffee was now cold, but he still felt like drinking it to the end.
It was sunny outside, and it seemed like it was warm. The snow was still on the ground, which would tell you otherwise. These short and cold days were flying away from one after another like the wild birds in the sky. There was no way of stopping the time. There was no way to get back in time and fix past problems. All you have to do is to suffer well, old man. He would call somebody, but he had nobody to talk to. Nobody called him either. It’s been a while since that phone was ringing. This is life. This is a revanche. I am losing this fight, Jack thought. It was not supposed to be this way.
He strolled to the bar and picked a bottle of whiskey. He went up to his writing room. His laptop was sitting on the table next to a pile of papers and glasses scattered all over. He poured himself a drink in one of the glasses and drank it all. It felt calming. He opened his laptop and started to type:
“There he was, on the edge of life, lonely and broken with all those books dusting on the library shelves around the world. Life gave him too many chances. Most of them he wasted. It’s not over until it is over, he thought and drank another one. Living his dream cost him a lot. He paid his price in full. There was nothing left for him in his City of Brotherly Love, not love nor any future promises. Everything came and went, and not all of the memories remained in his hangover mind. Fighting the good fight and drinking the good whiskey was everything left for him to do in his empty house of broken dreams with windows shut dark from the outside world. The writing was a lonely game. Life was a lonely game too. It wasn’t too bad as long as the words kept coming and the lines were written. Not at all.”
Hey, man. I know you out there somewhere You’ve been so close, and now you’re gone into the other world, the other side they call it, Where I can’t see you anymore. You’ve been around so much You’ve always been here, Since the young days of our lives I’m still around and pushing through it And you’ve been gone, So prematurely, gone. It felt like in the young days There was so much to live for There was so much to do, to try It felt like we’ve got all the time in the world, man And the opportunities were endless All we needed was time. We’ve been together for so long We’ve done so many things as one We’ve lived through some tough shit And we always knew to have some fun. We laughed, and we’ve cried, and we were Like brothers, the best friends forever. I know we still are, and we’ll always be, As long as I keep you in my heart. So many happy moments, so much Drinking and fun, We never needed the reason, as long as We were together. We were on. It’s sad to no longer have you, No longer see you, no more calls and texts, No more the best friendship, It’s all in the past, in my memories now. I’ll keep you in my prayers and thoughts For as long as I am alive. You’ve taught me a lot with your living Your spirit, your grit, and your mind. I hope you’ve found your place out there And heaven is now your new home I know we will see each other again at some point And then we’ll get drunk for the old good time’s sake. I’ll tell you my stories, and you’ll tell me yours We’ll hug each other, we’ll laugh, and we’ll cry, It’s lonely out here, man, but this is the life I have to move on and fight and survive. I know that you’re close, man. I can feel you around I am happy to ever know you and call you my best friend.
Today and tomorrow, What does it matter, Throwing yourself into the fire And watching yourself burn. It might hurt or damage you, or it might not, If you’re immune or if you’re dead, Or if you are resilient. There is the same grey sky up above, And there are the same sad people Walking underneath, singing the blues Waiting for something to happen. The red-brick walls are turning black with mold. The red-brick walls cannot sustain this anymore. They’ve seen enough of struggle. They’ve been depressed So many times that the pain cannot hold the happy colors Anymore. The cheerful colors disappear and vanish with the sun. The sky is clouded, dark, and mean As we shoot the rockets through it Trying to escape successfully. The times are different now, and we are different too. There is something in the air that we cannot inhale. It will turn us to stone, it will stone us to death, It will make us the slaves of our bodies and homes. The freedom is gone slowly, and nobody knows where it is anymore. Everything happened too fast. The store shelves are empty, and the prices are higher than Paychecks as we wait in our lines for the change. We call ourselves names, and we want to be friends We try to be different, yet we want to be all the same. We try, fail, and fail again to keep on trying. The birds don’t sing anymore; they’ve turned numb. Our music is the reflection of us and our souls As the turntables are spinning those records Making them sing and turn and tell us something good. Turning these records to gold as we are Throwing ourselves into the fire and watching ourselves burn.
As another year comes to its natural conclusion, I sit and think about it for a while. Many things were going on this year that I wanted to analyze and reflect on. This year was not the best or most remarkable, even though many great things did happen, and overall it has been an improvement to the year prior. I think nothing will and could ever compare to 2020. That’s how fucked up that year has been for me and for all of us. 2021 has been a little bit better. In many ways, similar to 2020, not much improvement, although one could feel a bit of a relief. Something that was so mysteriously dangerous and everyone was holding on to just got out of the way. We all took a long deep breath and moved on in our lives. I think this is how 2021 will go down in history. It was time to move on. I am so fucking happy I moved on.
I am always fascinated by how fast a year flew by, and usually, that would make me a bit nostalgic and sad. This doesn’t happen anymore because these were some crazy two fucking years, and I cannot wish more to have them behind my back and fucking forgotten, thrown out of my life and mind. Fuck these crazy times. I am very hopeful for the future days to come. I do hope for a much better and prosperous future. I am the fucking future. I will make it all work starting right fucking now and onward. This is how it should be. Each of us has to own it, take our lives into our hands, and make shit happen. Nobody else would do that for you or me. It is all in our fucking hands.
I remember how desperately I’ve been waiting for the end of 2020. That one was a motherfucker of the year and such a turning point in, I believe, everyone’s lives. How many of us will never be the same after all that crazy shit? I think all of us have changed our life’s dimensions and priorities since 2020. I don’t know how much longer we all will be in this pandemic and how much longer we will be getting forced into vaccinations, masks, limited capacities, shortages, and all that other shit. One thing I know for sure, we all have to move the fuck on. We all have to own our lives. We all had to improve our lives, relationships with one another, and our health because otherwise, there is no movement forward. I made my choices, I made up my mind, I know what the fuck is what the fuck. I also see that many people are still living in this never-ending wait, for the directions, waiting to be told, waiting not to die from the virus, waiting for another fucking shot. The shot we all should be taking is our own shot at this life, not some fucking half-backed chemicals that might as well fuck up your health even more. And of course, even the fucking science doesn’t know the long-term effects and consequences or what else will the new variant bring on.
Reflecting on this year of God 2021, I think it’s been a rough one, but overall not too bad. I did spend too much time waiting on something to happen, and everything seemed to be a drag. I’ve been trying to take ownership and make things move around but with little success. Some fucking things just take their time. I have finally left the big Corporate America world, which was a very long-time coming and fucking finally came to fruition. Around February, I realized that I could not make things work and that there was no return from that fucking hellhole. The only option was to run as far away as I could. And I did. It took almost six months to run away and find a new job. There was so much fucking effort invested into this fucking job search that I almost gave up. I thought the month of searching would be enough at first. Then one month went by, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth. How wrong was I? And then, all of a sudden, somebody reached out to me from the deep past and offered me a job. I considered the opportunity, and I finally got the new gig. I got all that I’ve been ever asking for, and I finally was able to say good buy to all that corporate bullshit. Searching for the job took away all the time I wanted to spend on writing, fitness, family, sleep, and the rest of life-important things. It only made everything more complicated and more painful.
We wanted to move to Florida this passing year as well, unsuccessfully. We started house hunting early in the year, and we were very close at times of getting one. It didn’t happen until late September, and I think for all the right reasons. Fortunately, we’ve got our new place right here in the Philadelphia suburbs. We did spend an entire month of May in Florida renting, and it was the highlight of the year. That really felt very much like healing, very rewarding, relaxing, and just fucking awesome. I am considering going there next year as well. There are some things to consider prior but fuck the things. My life, my family’s life, and our well-being are top priorities against everything else. Everything else can go to fucking hell as far as I am concerned. There is always something in our way preventing us from going after our goals. Some fucking last-minute, out-of-the-blue fucking emergency that will fuck up the big plan. Here is where we need to be laser-focused and cut that bullshit right out. If you know what you want, go and get what you want. There is no need for waiting, crying, trying, or asking somebody for something. Just fucking do it, as Nike said.
This year I’ve lost my dear lifelong friend. It is hard to write about your best friend who is no longer here. There has been so much between us that we went through together that it will take a novel-sized book to capture everything. I don’t know if the words I am choosing are the right words, and indeed, they are not enough to capture the loss and the sadness. I have a ton of memories of him that I will always treasure, as well as all the things we did together. He’s been in poor health the last three years of his life since the diagnosis, and he’s been a true fucking fighter, fighting this thing to the end, until his last minute. Unfortunately, his illness was stronger than him. Unfortunately, all these other things got in a way, impacted him and his health one way or another, and in the end, he was gone. There was so much of him in my life, and now there is just emptiness. It is very unusual to realize that and confirm this new reality. How will this life go without a person who’s been so close to me all these years? We went through so much shit together. We have been together since the day we’ve met. Life did not prepare me for this, but this is something that, when it happens, leaves you with no choice. It leaves you broken up there, hanging confused and shocked, wondering what the fuck just happened. Rest in peace, my dear friend. I love you, I miss you, I will never forget you. As Warren Zevon sang, “I’ll keep you in my heart for a while,” and forever. Take care now. I hope you’ve found your peace up there in heaven. May your soul be comfortable for once and until we see each other again.
Job is something I seem to always struggle with. It is either the job search is challenging and complex, takes too much time, and there are no opportunities, or, when I finally lent a job, I feel like I am not in the right mindset to deal with it and I am thinking about the escape. And on the other hand, getting along with a bunch of strangers at work and pretending that you like them all and enjoy their company even if you don’t care, and even if they treat you like shit, is a full-time job on its own. Sometimes it feels like there are no great jobs for me or at all. It seems like everywhere I go, I own somebody something. That owning is what fucking drives me crazy. The minute I start feeling all those eyes on me watching, waiting, wanting me to jump out of my skin, wanting me to break, and all these fucking never-ending expectations and constant not enough’s are killers for anyone’s soul, not just mine. My soul is small and humble, and it doesn’t need much comfort or requires anything unusual. It is in a much better place when all the necessities are covered and paid for, but there the problems begin. I am a free spirit, and I like to think I am independent, and I like to think I have a don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, but that only goes for so long. At the end of the day, I love to have my bills paid on time and have certain comfort in my life, certain financial freedom, certain life qualities that I think a normal human being who works hard deserves to have and should be enjoyed effortlessly. I don’t like to count every single fucking penny. I don’t like to shop for savings and discounts, and I don’t give a fuck about savings and overthinking my retirement budget. I want what I want and when I do want that, and I am getting it right there and then. Not because I am a spoiled lunatic, but because this approach, in my opinion, takes away the pain of letting go of the hard-earned money and the stress that comes along with not having enough or spending your last dollar. I also don’t like to spend too much time worrying about stupid shit. I’d rather pay more and have nothing to worry about. Life is short. I wonder, when we die, what will be the biggest regret, our retirement budget, or all the missed opportunities in this life?
This year will mark the fifth year since I’ve seriously decided to write. Back in 2016, after reading Charles Bukowski’s poetry for the first time, I felt something that I had never felt before. There was this crazy urge to write, create, be a poet, and a writer. Everything I observed around me, every thought that entered my mind, I was trying to somehow put on the paper in the poem form. I remember that fire burning inside of me. I have never felt anything like that before or after. Bukowski’s poetry initially seemed too simple. I felt like even I could do that. I can write my thoughts as Bukowski did. This is why he was a genius. This is why he has inspired so many and keeps inspiring new writers today.
It wasn’t all that simple when I tried to write something myself, but at least I tried, and I’ve got something. It was the beginning of everything for me. My poetry wasn’t good, and there was no prose early on at all. Somehow, I wrote over two hundred poems in some three-plus years and self-publish that in 2020. Since that time, I haven’t published anything else. Last year, I finished writing a novel which I started writing back in 2018. This year I was planning to final edit it and start looking for representation as I was planning to have it all done professionally and officially.
The editing process stalled early in the first half of the year, and I could never finish it. There was always something in a way. Mostly my job or my new job search, which took away too much of my fucking time. I do feel like shit to yet again put my writing career on the back burner for the sake of comfortable and worry-less living. Looking back at it now, I don’t think it was all that comfortable and worry-less as I thought. Life is full of fucking surprises and challenges, and it keeps to fuck me up at every corner with every bit of opportunity it has to cut me off. I know this and expect this to happen, but this will take my focus away from my writing and my true passion. Am I disappointed? Yes, I am a little. I feel that this unfinished business is hanging over me. I feel like I didn’t hold the promise I’ve made to myself to finish that novel this year. But, with some challenges, I was able to make many improvements in my life and career, and hopefully, that will help me move forward and spend more time on my writing. I do hope to finish that fucking novel this upcoming new year and hopefully find somebody to push this to big guys in publishing to have a traditional publishing release. It would be great. At least it seems like it. There is a lot of shit I will have to go through as well, but I’ll deal with it when I get there. For now, I have a lot of work to do, and I need to have my priorities straight and set my mind on them.
It is not so cold and snowless on this Christmas Eve of 2021. It is dark and quiet outside, and nothing is happening in the suburbs besides Santa, who has a lot of work to do tonight. All kids are asleep, waiting for tomorrow’s morning to come faster so they can finally see their gifts. My wife and son are upstairs sleeping, and I am here downstairs, drinking great Irish whiskey, listening to a great Irish guitar player Rory Gallagher on vinyl, eating pistachios ice cream, and typing this final blog post for the year. Life is not all that bad. It can be bitchy at times, though. Everything that I have now, today, is not luck. I know that. I can recall too many sleepless nights and never-ending workdays and never-ending struggles and sufferings. I survived all that, and somehow I am still here. I am in a much better place and space and keep moving forward. Just like Rocky, I keep punching and moving forward. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or after tomorrow or the next month, next year. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I have learned the hard way to survive, and I will survive no matter what happens. I will break the fuck free and breakthrough all that bullshit. I wish we all did just that in the new year. Let’s make this new year the best one yet for all of us. Life is too short to spend on stupid shit hopeless dreams. There is so much more to live for and to accomplish. I want to raise my glass tonight to all the new great beginnings and a better life for everyone. Cheers, y’all, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, whatever you celebrate, and a Happy New Year! We all fucking deserve it.
I reminisce about the old days The days that passed and are a long time gone. The days that kept me honest The days which brought suffering and pain.
These days have left the mark inside me They’ve been there for a reason To help me navigate my life. These days have made me the man I am today These days were imprinted in my soul and mind.
My thoughts go back, and I remember thinking How will this all play out for me one day? I knew that something would be happening I never knew what effect it would have on me. The future was always a mystery and kept It’s secrets away from me. This was my life to live, and I did it Knowingly and consciously.
I remember the young soul with all the needs and wants I remember the dreaming and planning and hoping One day for a better life to come. I knew that nothing would stay the same and that The world is turning, flipping, fucking up I just needed to find my place here one day, I needed to survive the hype.
I remember the sunny weather and The sun’s been warming up my soul. The ocean, It was as warm as is the bathtub water, and the sand, It was just like powder, smooth and white. I remember the early mornings of hope I remember the evenings of sunsets, I remember one day passing another, I remember that I grew up too fast. I remember these moments the best.
I lived in one place than another, I knew that nothing was good enough, I knew that I would never be completely happy Anywhere, unless I’ll try too hard. The young’s man heart is always wanting And the soul is full of fire burning hot, Life is always bitching and moaning, And the mind never had the rest or stopped.
And even now, as I sit here thinking, The years now passed, and the youth was gone. I know that fire is still here, and the mind Did calmed itself over the years and struggles But I am still the same, still burning hot. I think and reminisce and go back and forth in life I know that things will never be the same again Even if you try too hard. Life’s moved on, and so did I, Nothing’s remained unchanged, except the little young Man’s soul burned the dreaming hopes away.
The good old days will always be there, The present will become the past, The future will forever be a mystery and One day it also is going to become the past. I used to be so young once, I’m growing older by the day, It doesn’t matter. This is life. Things always happen. One thing to know is that I did not waste my time.
I sit in front of the empty page and look at it patiently I know it’s somewhere, but I cannot find it right now. It is hiding from me, but I wait. I wait for that spark to come back to me, to light me up. I want to have it. I need that flame. I have to create. I want to fill my blank pages entirely with words, Page after page, line after line. The rhythm of prose and poetry will guide me, The inspiration will inspire me The imagination will give me its gift once more. But for now, I just sit here staring at the walls and My coffee in the cup is hot. Just sipping As the morning classical music is playing on the Speakers on the wall, Written by some dead people from a long time ago. This is my morning. This is the process. This is how I write, create, and get by.
It is another day, another Thursday, another Thanksgiving. I woke up early today, even when I didn’t have to. I just like to be up early in the morning to have it all to myself. This is my time to recharge and think and write and just be all alone in peace and quiet. I love early mornings. I love to see a new day breaking in. Everything in life just happens too fast. One minute it is dark outside, and the next, it is bright daylight, and the morning sun is shining in your face brightly, making it impossible to look straight. I love the sun even when it is thirty degrees outside and cold as shit. Something about the sun makes me want to love, watch, see, be in it, and experience it more and more. I do love warmer weather, though, but it is what it is. We live here in suburban Pennsylvania, and here it is cold, and we live through this fucking cold now to see the nice warm sunny days later.
There are a lot of things and people I need to be thankful for, just in general. Of course, all these things combined made me the man I am today, living the life that I do today, and that’s the fact. After such a fucked up and never-ending craziness in the last almost two years, it feels liberating and peaceful at last. I never knew that this time would come where I could fucking just be myself, get my life back, and just relax. There are no more crazy work demands and routines, and lack of proper live-work balance is in the past. After all of this, I now realize how damaged I’ve been that this normal life still feels strange to me. Fuckness! Life can be rewarding, and great, and balanced, and my fucking dividends are finally being paid back indeed. Who knew this time would ever come? I didn’t. I was always hoping for it, but I never knew this would come to any fucking fruition.
Nothing ever was easy for me, whatever it is. Everything has always been a fucking pain in the ass, a drag, a struggle. Everything required a significant work investment and effort. Early in my life, I’ve learned that I always have to put a lot of work into everything if I want to get anything in return. I knew that this is how my luck works, and it doesn’t give a fuck how nice of a guy I am; it will beat me to the ground on any occasion possible. At least, the good thing for me is that early in my life, I never felt entitled to anything. I knew that I needed to bust my ass to get anywhere. And that is what I’ve been doing with my life, busting my fucking ass all the time, especially in the last five-six years. I got more fortunate than most on a few occasions, but the hard work still preceded anything.
Even just a year ago, I was so lost and damaged and confused and really locked in my own bullshit and madness, literally locked up within the four walls, trying to see and wait, what the fuck is it going to be next. How will it all turn around for me? It was dark and depressing, and it has been my lowest of the low mentally and emotionally. I have never experienced depression so deep and profoundly and constantly. For a brief moment there, it felt normal. Thank God it is behind me now. Thank God I can see the clear sky above my head. Things did get around a lot, especially in the last few months. I am living in a new house, my family and I are all healthy, I am working a new job with much better pay and conditions, and pretty much everything I ever wanted. I’ve got it all now. I finally got everything I ever fucking wanted! And I’ve just realized it as I am writing this. This is still kind of unbelievable to me.
Not so long ago, I’ve been hustling at this fucking insane corporate job, trying to get shit done, trying to make shit happen, trying to fulfill the agenda, and playing a role in all that corporate bureaucracy world. I always had hopes that it would end soon; crazy shit like that cannot last forever; I will see a better life soon. That was the problem. I should’ve run away the minute I’ve seen the shit going sideways. I should’ve never justified any of that bullshit for myself. I should’ve known better. I didn’t, unfortunately. Maybe I was too naive. Perhaps I really thought that I could change something. I guess there are places in the world where you shouldn’t try to change anything. Now I’ve learned my lesson. You are there for as long as you can be there, and then, you should be gone and forget about all that horseshit and move on. That is what I eventually did, but it took me almost a year to get done and over with.
If I had to be thankful, I would be selfishly grateful to myself for sticking through all that bullshit and never giving up. Mentally on a certain level, I was trying to give that shit up, but in reality, I didn’t. I was always trying to make things work to the best abilities. I was trying to navigate through that nonsense with peace of mind and calm and just being patient. It took a lot out of me. I am never the same person again. I don’t know if that crippled me or made me stronger, but I am a much different person today. I am glad I’ve become a different person. This is how life works essentially. It takes you on a trip through all the picks and valleys and makes you understand that you mean shit to it. It shapes you and your inner world, pushing you to get to that new perspective that is more accurate, more true, and eventually helps you see a better side of your life. It comes with no instructions, though. You have to figure it all out on your own.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all! I hope you’ve made this a great one, as you should.
Cold morning air feels refreshing Feels like morning, feels like a new day. It feels like freedom.
You inhale the smoke of a cigarette And you sip on that morning brew Like it’s your energy, It’s your fuel That will drive you through this day.
The trees stay cold and motionless And the sun is waking up Yet again, Yet again, bringing you another day To live, to fight, to struggle, to prove That you can make it.
You are making it alright, Good things are fucking coming As they should After such a prolonged suffering And chaos and misery.
You’ve got another chance to make things better You’ll get more of these chances Hopefully, As you go through this day and another day, And another cigarette and coffee In the morning.
Thoughts come and go, and some stay, Problems come and go, and some stay. This is how it is, and it always has been this way. This is your life and your choice, and your battle.
As the world wakes up to face another life You wake up to meet your demons, You trick them sometimes, Sometimes you struggle, sometimes They are just another you. Another side of you.
You know it, and you know it well. And the cold morning air knows it As its getting warmer As the new day unwinds And brings you this life to Live again. Yet one more time.
Yesterday I quit the job that I worked at for the last three and half years. This has been the longest time I worked for any company in my life this far. Every time I left a job in the past, I was reminiscing; I felt sad and nostalgic. Not now, though. Strangely enough, leaving this hellhole was not triggering any sensitivity in my heart and soul. It ate so much out of my life that I cannot even fathom it.
The last two years have been shit for most people. Too much nonsense went on, too much stress, anxiety, bullshit, and the discovery that there could be a new normal, even more, fucked up than the old one. The last two years have been both exciting in my personal life and fucking traumatic workwise. My son was born two years ago; I got a promotion at work; I was finally able to pay off all my debt, save some money, buy a house, we moved to a better place, we’ve traveled, I’ve self-published my first book, a collection of poems, we’ve discovered new things for us as a family. It all began as a mystery in the workplace, turning into something productive for a short period, and then the shit hit the fan, and all the fucking craziness broke loose.
We were all in the lockdown stage of life, and the pandemic was in full swing. All of a sudden, everyone, and I mean everyone, freaked the fuck out. All companies, organizations, grocery stores, factories, banks, you fucking name it, they all went fucking insane. A lot of people learned that their jobs were not essential, and they were fired or furloughed. The government was kind enough to send them “Covid-checks,” which kept most of the people officially out of the workplace for almost two fucking years now. It was scary to go to the grocery store, the fucking shortages began, people were afraid to walk by one another, people were even more strangers than ever.
My workdays became gradually longer and longer, and since we were all locked up in our houses, it was easy to reach us and give us some more work. There were priorities on top of fucking priorities never fucking ended. They always wanted more and more and fucking more! Greedy corporate fucks! Fuck them! Eventually, there was so much work to do that I would still be behind on everything even if I skipped my sleep and meals. Everything just got utterly unmanageable.
I don’t know how and why I took all this shit on myself but apparently, so did everyone who decided to stay employed. On the one hand, this persistence gave me a great opportunity down the line to save more money, remain independent, buy a house, and keep out of debt. On the other hand, I’ve got a fucking significant brain damage from work overload, burnout, fatigue, and quite a few nervous breakdowns. I literally, mentally, and spiritually lost my shit. Regardless of how much work I’ve done, there was always something else, something more, and then more on top of that. Somehow I made it all work.
I tried to keep my sanity intact, I was keeping well with my writing, I was trying to stay fit and exercised a lot, I meditated a lot. More stories and poems reflective of what the fuck was going on in the world and my life than. My mind went into some strange places for a while but luckily came back. I was finally able to finish editing and re-writing some of the poems for my self-published book. The whole process took me almost six months to complete, but I did it. I found a designer who created a cool fucking book cover; I wrote all the bios and intros and re-organized all that shit, and it was an excellent experience for me altogether.
We went to Florida for a week once in late September of 2020 with friends. It was a great time. I was able to relax, forget about the stupid job, relax and stop the fucking time from running. It is fascinating how fast the time was going here in PA, and then out there in FL, everything slowed down. It was just chill. There was no rush, no urgency, nothing particular to do, and no fucking due dates, no deliverables. I just relaxed and got my life back for a week. After we returned, the crazy shitshow continued as usual.
In early 2021 I started to think seriously about a new job. I started to apply online a lot but with no success. I knew my resume was shit, and I needed a better, professionally written resume to breakthrough. The whole resume process went on forever. I started the process with the agency in late February, and it was only ready by early May. Two fucking months of a drag. As I said, everyone was fucked up. In March, I got a severe nervous breakdown while working on a “critical update,” and my fucking phone wasn’t connecting right, and then my computer took a shit, and I threw both of them against the fucking wall. Needed to get new equipment within the same day to get online and finish all that work shit.
Then was an announcement that we would start returning to the office beginning in mid-May. First, it was just voluntary; if you want to come, please come and check it out, see what’s new, see what’s changed. Then it was a mandatory visit or a few visits before early July when the hybrid schedule officially would kick off. I knew that the “freedom” of working from home would end very soon, and I needed to take advantage of that. I needed a vacation, and since last year’s break was very brief, we decided to take a more extended vacation time. Since I started looking for a new job, I decided to use most of my vacation days and mix them with remote work to cover the whole month.
We thought about a two-week straight vacation. But then why in the fuck would we want to cut ourselves short? We found a rent for a whole month of May, at the nice place, in the lovely neighborhood, and it all worked out just fucking great. We went to the beautiful Palmer Ranch in Sarasota, Florida. It was a fucking blast. That sunshine, the ocean, the sand, the palms, fucking alligators, all of it completely changed my life, how I felt, how I thought about life, all the anxiety and bullshit and depression went the fuck away. I felt like a normal human being at last for such a long time. Finally! Finally, I knew that there could be a decent life, a great life is possible, living in Florida is fucking awesome, and the climate is fantastic. I also proved to myself that moving to FL is definitely doable, and we as a family will at some point move out here. Things have changed in our lives as the year went by, and our priorities and responsibilities changed. So we decided to stay in PA and bought a house here in the suburbs. But my heart is other there in Florida. I couldn’t get enough of sitting on the sand, drinking beer, smoking a cigarette, watching the best fucking sunsets ever, and really enjoying my life.
I’ve been very reminiscent about FL recently. Somehow, something just triggered good memories, and I was all consumed by it. The weather on the East Coast is getting colder, too, and that also doesn’t help not thinking about the good warm days. If one had the perfect living place, Sarasota would be mine and the only ideal place to live. I remember evenings spent on the beach with my family, watching the most amazing sunsets while drinking my beer and genuinely enjoying every moment.
There is nothing more simple and more beautiful in the world than a beach. The blue ocean water was calming my worried mind and soul. The sand was so white and pure and soft; you wanted to be there to experience it all and never leave. The days were perfectly hot, with 88 average temperatures, and the sun gently burned out all the anxiety, stress, and bullshit that occupied my brain. The whole experience was very much therapeutic.
The future is unknown, and many things can and will happen down the road. I know that I cannot control most of it, but I can set my mind on something and achieve it. And I will. I fucking will, sooner or later. For now, though, we’ve just got a great house, our first house as a family, it needs us, and it needs our attention, so we’ll be here. We’ll take care of it. We’ll do our best to have a great time here. We’ll be ready to move to Florida in no time. Sarasota, we miss you, and we will be back soon. The new chapter of our life is about to begin.
The sun will shine, and the wind will blow. And the trees will hum their tunes staying green as much as they want. Your next line is going to lay down or not, It doesn’t matter. We’ve all been through that. The coffee’s turning cold, and the cigarette’s Burning down, but it’s just one tiny moment. We are here today, writer or not And we live, We fight, We survive. We create.
It’s been a while, my friend, since I lay my fingers on you and wrote something. It used to be great to wake up early in the morning, brew some strong, fresh coffee, and type my sleeping brains away. It used to be that I’d write almost every morning, and there was always something to write about. There is still something to write about. It is just that so many other things happen in our lives that require attention and then require some sort of shift in priorities. It’s been over one month since I wrote anything new, and my blog feels like a foster child with nobody to look after it. I am back at it again. Back to my writing game, back to the rhythm of the words and lines and pages.
New life is here. Many new beginnings were happening and building out this year. Good new beginnings, considering the circumstances. At some point last year, it felt like I was losing my shit. And I did, on the mental level, but I was in shape and productive like a motherfucker. This year is just like last year but with more fucking weird surprises that nobody could account for. I cannot remember my life being that fucking odd and chaotic and without any reasonable sense. Everything happened this year like a new president, new virus, new social guidelines, new vaccines, tornados in Philly, bitcoin’s rise, and you fucking name the rest of the crazy shit that we’ve lived through.
There were also some good things happening there as well. I never consider myself a lucky person. Lucky is not in my fucking dictionary, and more than that, it is foreign subject material to me. I always had to and needed to work very hard on everything to achieve anything. This has always been my truth. The thing is that this hard work made me appreciate my life and my achievements much more. This is where I struggle yet to learn how to make this life a better place to be. And I’ve come a long way.
This year also had some milestones that I’ve been planning to achieve for a while now. Today it all makes my head spin about how much shit I’ve put up with to make it all happen and how many personal sacrifices I was able to make it all work in the end. Since about a year ago, I started to think and strategically plan to leave my current workplace. The fucking corporation has gotten too close to my balls, disturbing my personal life too much and too often. I fucking hated it. I am a responsible adult, a father, and I try not to act on impulse but rather be thinking first before reacting. I’ve sucked all that shit up for the greater good of my family and me. I am the man, and I make shit happen, and I ensure everything plays out well in the end.
So I’ve suffered for a very long time while thinking about and prioritizing my exit from that corporate world, planning for my future, building my moves while setting shit up for the best. And you know what? Fucking finally, it all worked to my best advantage. It fucking did work as I planned it. I am finally getting my life back. Now I have a new place of work, a much better place, much better pay, and a much better life overall. I purchased my first home, which is a great fucking home for my family, and we are happy here. It almost feels like I’m dreaming after all the shit I went through. Waiting for all that shit to happen, waiting for a pandemic to end, waiting for a recruiter to call, waiting for a response, waiting for a decision, waiting for the sun to shine, waiting for an escape… I’ve been fucking waiting for so goddamn long that now I have a hard time believing this reality. And the truth is that if you have your fucking mind on the money and think strategically, always work towards your plan, you will achieve your desired results. You will make it all happen sooner or later.
“Good things are fucking happening.” This was a quote from Instagram, which came through at some point randomly in my feed. I’ve been thinking about it and saying it myself too often lately, knowing that no matter how hard it is now, it will be ok. Good things will fucking happen eventually! This quote makes me both smile and it inspires me, gives me some good energy, and promotes positive thinking and hope. It is hard to be positive and have any great stamina when you are literally and figuratively locked up in the fucking box with all your usual liberties taken away or suppressed. You don’t know what the fuck is going to happen in the next minute, and nobody will tell you the truth anyhow. And slowly, we become animals. This is what happened to America recently. In my case, I am happy with how things have turned out to be. The future is there, it is near, and it holds its mystery. And I am looking forward to being part of it and part of that fucking mystery.
My waiting finally came to fruition in such a short period after such a long waiting feels surreal. I remember how long and hard things were for me in the beginning and pretty much until recently. I was on the edge of losing my shit multiple times. I was feeling down, broken, and hopeless. However, I held up, took my blame, my responsibilities, and moved forward, not knowing what was out there, not knowing how it all would play out for me in the end. It’s been a year since I planned my move out of this job; it’s been about six months since I started actively looking for new positions; it’s been hundreds of job applications sent with half of them never receiving any feedback; it’s been dozens of interviews with various success and progress, and all of them going into nowhere, except one, the one that made it for me. The one I’ve been waiting on for so fucking long, and it finally came to me. All this fucking misery finally paid off. It all fucking came to fruition.
I’ve been driving home one evening from work, listening to a podcast about something, and zoning out into my world of thoughts and nonsense. I took the exit from the highway and into the suburbs, driving by the darkened streets of single homes with nicely mowed lawns, trash cans all lined up as if in the army, all color red. It’s quiet, dark, almost no people seen around, a few cars driving by here and there. And then suddenly I woke up from my thoughts, looked around, and thought, where am I? What is this place? In two seconds, it all sank in. Ok, now relax, you’re am home. I am home. It is my new neighborhood now. It is nice, quiet, and beautiful, and it only costs a jacked average home price plus a few more thousand dollars of property taxes compared to where I lived before. It’s ok; we will make it work. This is a new life and a new beginning. Life wasn’t all that fucked up after all. Good things are fucking happening.
I woke up in my bed, on the second floor. It’s dark, about the break of dawn, and I can hear the birds chirping. The sun is yet to wake up, but I beat it by at least thirty minutes. I put the meditation on and woke up with my mind at ease. I never thought the early morning meditation could be so much helpful to such damaged goods as I am. I was wrong. This meditation set me at ease and made me wake up properly and feel great. I take a shower and brush my teeth, after which I brew my coffee. I open all the blinds on ten or more windows around the house to have the early morning sunshine break-in.
I open the sunroom’s large windows up to get a perfect, wide-open view of my newly acquired backyard, which reminds me of some sort of national park with all the trees and bushes, and squirrels, and the wild nature in it. It is very chaotic; there is no sense and logic as to why these trees were planted where they were. I have this perfect chaos now for myself and my family to enjoy. This backyard is all in one, my nature and my freedom, and my privacy.
Soon after, my two-year-old will wake up, and I will hear him playing with his toys. He’ll come down to this sunroom and continue playing until his nap time. He’ll go outside with his mother at some point in the day. He loves his mother a lot. Those two are the perfect company while the dad is working. I usually join them mid-day for a bit and then later in the evening. I love them both dearly. I love them both more than life. I am a fortunate son of the bitch, after all.
Time’s like sand Is falling through my hands And fingers Seamlessly And quickly Into the beach Into the pool of life Into forever, Never to be found again Losing itself amongst The weeds of life.
Here I go again. This is another birthday. Another year went by, another lesson learned and too many not learned. It was thirty-four years ago when I was brought to this world, and I cannot believe how fast the fucking time passed. In a heartbeat, I become a grown man. Not so long ago, I was just a small boy, playing carelessly in my parent’s house, enjoying my cared-for and straightforward living. Everything was great, as I can recall it, back then. Our lives were happier, more eventful, more organized, more engaged. Everything had a purpose and a meaning, or it didn’t have to have any. But we all lived the life, smiled, played, had fun, met friends, celebrated, and reminisced.
The time was prolonged then. I remember always waiting for something to happen, whether I wanted to be old enough to go somewhere or wait for the holidays, birthdays, new gifts, new visits by our family friends and relatives. I recall friends of the family and relatives were coming over almost every weekend. My mother would cook something, then serve the table full of her delicacies. We all would dress up in our nicest, newer clothes and be waiting for our guests to come over. They always did, and it was the happiest time. They always brought something for my brother and me like some new treats, toys, clothes, chocolates, anything. We felt so excited and happy and appreciative. Back then, this was true happiness to me.
As time went by and I was growing older, I remember that point in time when our guests would stop visiting. Their visits were rare and not even on all major holidays or birthdays. Every time my parents told me somebody would not come, it made me upset. It felt like the holidays were ruined. I always wanted these good old days to go on all the time, never stop no matter what. Everything good and bad eventually comes to its end sooner or later. My childhood did come to an end, and all these neverending visits by our relatives and family friends. My family is now thin-spread across the globe. We don’t have those happy childhood days at the house anymore. We don’t even own that house anymore. We become adults and parents ourselves, and now we are in charge of our lives, children, friends, and relatives. Live came full circle.
Many things have happened in my life over the last thirty-four years. I’ve been around a corner a few times. Somehow I remember all that shit, and it is still affecting me to a certain extend. Things started to go sideways somewhere along the line, and more often than not, nothing was great anymore. However, I keep looking for my purpose, for my new motivation, for another thing to do or accomplish all the time with little or no success. At this time in my life, I realize that this is not the game anymore and that there are some serious responsibilities I need to assume. Having a wife and child and elderly parents should make you take that responsibility, want it or not.
I know that I am on the right path; however, I feel like this path is too fucking annoying for me. I am too tired to follow it. I need something new, something fresh, something more purposeful and more enjoyable. I love to have certain comforts in my life, and strangely enough, my shitty office job is helping me to have them. On the other hand, this fucking job and this corporation with all their bullshit are driving me fucking insane, killing my soul, and shitting on my brains. I now spent over three months looking for a new job with 0 success. There haven’t been too many interviews, to begin with, but this economy, this fucking pandemic, these new job requirements, and constant chaos all around is just making it all weird and challenging to navigate as fuck.
I no longer know what I want to do and how to get there. I don’t know where I should go to find any fucking purpose in this chaotic and ridiculous life. I don’t know how to feel happy again because nothing or nobody except for my child makes me happy. I am lost as I ever been, with no directions, no purpose, no satisfaction, no goals, lost goals, no motivation, no desire to do any fucking thing. How did I get here? How to get the fuck out of here? Where is the recipe for this nonsense? How long is this misery going to last? Should I be getting used to it, is what life has become nowadays?
I don’t know, like so many other things. I just don’t fucking know. I just live my life like a fucking soldier on the mission, waiting for the next day to come while trying to survive today. What kind of life is that? Why has all the joy left me? Is this depression talking to me again? How many fucking times can a person be so depressed? It seems like this fucking darkness came last year and never left me. I felt for a very long time that my job was the reason for all my misery. And for the most part, it has been. That fucking soul-crushing-god-damned-fucking-shitty-office-slavery job has been down my throat for quite a while now. I mean, it all began all well and good, and somehow all the satisfaction and motivation went to shit. Somehow I am on the lowest of the low again. Oh, Fuckness!
Now, I am trying to find a new job, and there is just so much shit happening on my way that I don’t even want that new job. All these new jobs sound like a fucking disaster. There are no great jobs anymore. Everything has its limits, its course, and its fucking time. And it’s all about how much of somebody else’s shit are you willing to put up with.
I am talking to recruiters and managers trying to sound happy and knowledgeable, but I cannot even pretend to be interested in anything. I don’t give a fuck. I just don’t give a fuck! Meanwhile, I don’t even have an alternative. Stupid shit pops up in my mind like taking a physical job, get away from that fucking office and corporations. But that is not a solution. That is just another fucking trap. And I even know today that doing that for a bit will drive me fucking bunkers very soon. Somehow I need to find this golden middle. Somehow I need to figure it all out.
I am always a happy person as I know it. I am trying to be always on a positive note. I know that I have had something happy and positive and exciting waiting for me shortly. Everything takes too much time, and the time seems to be flying over our heads like a fucking tornado. I don’t know how long I can or will be waiting for anything to happen. I need to take action, but I don’t know what these fucking actions should be. I am stuck in this fucking misery with no way out, and the fact that I am kind of paralyzed in this situation, I am not able to make any moves or progress in my life, drives me fucking crazy! I don’t know where I am going, and I don’t know what the fuck to look out for.
I will continue to take care of myself, my family, do all the right things, and spend time with them. That will always be me and my mindset. They need me, and I need them even more. They are my love and joy, and they are everything I need in this life. I want all the best for them. Right now, I cannot afford all the best for them, except my best intentions, but I will be able to one day.
I go to the gym as often as I can. I will work on my body, my character, my overall well-being, and my fucking mental state. I will continue to look out for these fucking new and better jobs until I will finally get one. I will spend more time with my family and my friends, as I always should’ve. I am going to write more regularly and write more, and write fucking good. Writing does make me feel better, more fulfilled, and productive. There is a shit-load of writing to be done; there are books to release and publish, self-publish whatever. All I need is to actually sit down and do it. Do it for my own satisfaction, for my own sanity.
Happy birthday, mothafucka; you’ve made it this far and to so many more! Make sure you don’t fucking waste your time. Make sure you stay in your right mind and stay strong. These motherfuckers out there are not worth going crazy for. You have many people who are worth living for and trying for, which should be your reason and motivation. Fuck the rest! Cheers, you fucker!
Everything is a shortage, Jobs, Workers, Unemployment checks, Wages, Nurses, Hospitals, Doctors, Medicine, Gasoline, Car chips, Pick up trucks And Teslas, Toilet paper, Paper towels, Napkins, Sanitizers, And water, Masks, Vaccines, People’s lives, Sober minds, Clear minds, Strong minds, Independent minds. Smart, stupid, maniacs, Heros, assholes, morans,
Everything is a shortage or soon will be in short supply. We need so much shit the world cannot produce enough. As life goes on, our time is a shortage too. After today we’ll have one day less to live. After today, there will be another shortage of something. Did you get everything you need?
“Where I am coming from, man, Alabama, they are all just down-to-earth good people. My family lived there the entire life. We have nine people in the family: grandfather, grandmother, my parents, and five kids. Three sons and two daughters. I am the youngest son. My grandmother was the first great school teacher in my little town. My father worked at the factory his entire life, providing for the family. My grandparents took care of my parents, and my parents took good care of my siblings. They all are becoming somebody, you know? We are all well-educated and well-behaved, and everybody has become somebody in their lives. Here in Philadelphia, everybody is different. People are coming here from around the States. And he, he is doing things like that, you know? Do you see what he’s doing? But, you know what, I don’t care what kind of rich mothafucka are you, but if you ain’t shit – I ain’t fucking with you, you know?” “That’s right, man. I totally agree.” Said another black man from the back seat.
James was a black man, well-dressed, soft-spoken, and well mannered. He wore a suit with a vest, black-framed eyeglasses, and a hat. Nobody dresses like that on a Saturday night in Philadelphia. He and his friend got into my car, having a little chat about life and family and who is who. Seeing two black men from the country’s deep south on the East Coast was exciting and somewhat unusual. However, they both were well-mannered and spoke softly, and were very interested and involved in their conversation. I wasn’t involved as I tried not to be involved in anything, but I’ve always overheard other’s conversations intentionally or not. Most things didn’t matter to me or anybody, but it helped to pass the time, and it was always excellent material for the stories I wrote.
There were tons of these weird and exciting and just random stories I’ve heard, but only so few of them survived in my sleep-deprived and always over-tired head. I always try to pay attention to different and interesting people, especially if they came here from “God-knows-where.” I lived in Philly for the last fifteen years at the time, but I think I’ve spent my entire young adult life here, from my teens to my early thirties. I feel like a local even though I am an immigrant. However, for those newcomers and one-time visitors to Philadelphia, I am a local expert. I should know anything and everything. I am their fucking Google Maps, restaurant and bar guide, Yelp, city guide, mother and father for some, as well as somebody willing to listen to anything with no objections. My passengers asked me all kinds of questions, and they honestly believed anything I said, even if I was talking out of my ass. I do try, though, to give people my best response to my best knowledge. At the end of the day, I am a regular human being. I am trying to make it in this world of fuckery and inequality where you have to be a tough mothafucka if you want to survive. And I always wanted to survive.
The good thing about this job was that I got to meet all kinds of people from all walks of life and be part of their lives, even if it was just for a few minutes, while I was driving them around the block. Interestingly enough, the people you have in the car now you will never see in your life ever again. I have never picked up the same person twice, and even if I did, nobody would remember or recall that. For the most part, I just sit quietly in my front seat behind the wheel after I greet a passenger, and then I just drive listening to my music and the sounds of the City. On multiple occasions, passengers begin a conversation or start asking me questions. Usually, they all ask about the same shit over and over. Once they hear my accent, they ask the same annoying fucking questions again over and over: “Where are you from originally?” “How long have you been here?” “Do you like it here?” “How do you like Uber?” “Do you know any good places to eat in the city?” “What would you recommend to do in the city?” Little do they know that I have no other business or any inside knowledge besides driving in the City. I never go to any restaurants, or bars, any other entertainment establishments for that matter. All I really do is driving around, picking and dropping people off, and watching people walking on the streets, watching the City living its life, and by the end of the day, I go back to where I belong, the North East Philly and my wife.
I don’t mind people ranting and asking dumb questions. I do indeed appreciate the curiosity and an attempt to keep up the conversation going. I don’t like to talk to strangers, but sometimes I have no choice. Randomly, I find myself talking to the weirdest, or I should say “unlikely-to-talk-to” people, and the conversations are really great. Often, I feel like, damn, this ride was too short; I really wanted to talk to this person more. But in most cases, I would just greet people, ask them about how they are doing, and drive on shutting myself the fuck up. The Uber app guides me around, the radio plays some music, and I just follow the navigation, regardless of how shitty it is. The mission is to get a person to the destination safe and happy. And that’s what I do. I safely transport people from point A to point B and smile, thanking them for their ride and business.
This wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I didn’t have too many choices. All my job interviews were very sporadic and with no success. Even when it felt like I would get to another round, I’ve never heard back from a recruiter or HR person. This might sound like nothing, but it really dawns on you mentally and spiritually and makes you feel like the world doesn’t need you anymore; you are a worthless piece of shit, and you can just go fuck yourself. After a handful of these unsuccessful interviews, I felt like, fuck it all. I’ll just drive. I can still pay for my shit and move in my life day by day. The future will show what else is there for me, but and in the meantime, nothing but Uber is available.
There was another request a block away. I’ve changed my music and started another trip. Carolyn needed a ride to the Old City’s bar with her girlfriend, and I was there for them. I gave them a ride, and they thanked me. I’ve heard so many “Thank you’s” during the day that I don’t even pay any attention to those overused mechanical words. Certain people out there would just exit the car shutting the door without saying anything. Then in my head, I go, “Where is my fucking Thank you, asshole?!” Did I do something wrong? Did I ruin your day? I never saw you before, and more than likely, I will never see you ever again in my life, and that is that no exchange of words or pleasantries, just the transaction. What did I really care about as long as I made my required daily trips and made my quota?
There are moments or rather specific patterns during the workdays where you can see clearly that the requests are down to almost nothing, some sort of a die-down. It almost feels like the City has paused for a moment to take another breath, to recharge before the busy night’s adventures. I do feel these no-requests-moments happening at a specific time during certain days. It was a Saturday, the busiest day to drive for Uber. Everybody needs a lift on Saturday, whether you are going home from work, visiting a friend, seeing your boyfriend or girlfriend, going out with your buddies for a drink, or taking your fucking dirty laundry to and from the laundromat. And then, you don’t hear any new requests coming in for one minute, two, three, five, twenty minutes, sometimes an hour. What should I be doing? On the one hand, I am not making any money. On the other hand, I like these down moments to just be with myself. I drive around, play the music super loud and open the windows to get some fresh air and freedom inside. I pull over to the curb and smoke a cigarette to relax, think and recharge. These are also moments to visit Wawa, go to the bathroom, maybe grab a sandwich and a coffee.
Then I turn my Uber app on again, click “Go Online,” and shortly after, I hear the painfully familiar sound of a new request coming in, and I hit the “Accept,” and there I go again for yet another adventure somewhere in the City. The City of Brotherly Love, my adapted second hometown. The City for the survival of the fittest, for the rich and the poor, for the strong and the weak, along with all those “down to Earth, good people.”
Here we go again, Living this life, Fighting this battle. It never feels like the end of it Even though it comes so naturally And unexpected. There is less and less hope As there is less and less sense In today’s life Which keeps me wondering And confused by today And tomorrow. There is still the same sky up above There is still the same sun up above, And it still shines the same for everyone Leaving so many at peace And so many heartbroken. But this is life, and this is how it is. It comes, and it goes. We’re just the visitors, we’re tourists, We are the guests who often get lost. The stars will show when the darkness comes. The dark will keep us safe. It is just me here sitting surrounded by four walls Fighting the worlds on the screen Thinking, where do they come from? How many there are left? The meaning of it all. The struggle of creation. The coffee treats my soul as the The full page treats my insecurities. The sadness goes away as I become myself again. Just for today.
When your one-year-old child Seeing you The first thing in the morning Smiles at you With the most honest Pure, Truly authentic, Organic Smile, When you understand How much love there is in that smile, How much it means to you, How genuine that smile is, And how much you’d rather See the smile like that Then any other smiles In the world.
I am never looking forward to going there. But I worked in that fucking town. I guess I had to. It always gave me the crips. There were some weird vibes in this town, and I always felt the strangest feeling telling me that I don’t belong there. I always felt like a stranger in this town, even after three years of working there. This town and this job! They both had me, and I am very much sick with both of them. Now, after the pandemic, things looked really rough out here. I was back in town for business, and it all looked way too desperate and much more depressing. This was a dead town now.
It was never a very populated or crowded town per se, but now it looked almost empty. Cars are driving on the road, but no people are seen walking on the sidewalks. There are very few people around, period. And those people you do randomly meet, they don’t look too happy or too normal either. This is a city full of big corporate offices, parking lots, hotels, and poor, disadvantaged, primarily black locals. These locals certainly did not work in any of these fancy offices. They probably never worked since there was no place for them to do so. They just survived on the government support money. God bless America!
Since the commuters stopped coming in, many of the local businesses shut down. Everyone has been working from home in the last year and a half. This is the death of big corporate mentality or rather the death of the traditional nine-to-five lifestyle. All major corporations were now following the work mentality of those unconventional tech start-ups who allowed their people to work from anywhere in the world. It didn’t matter, as long as the job was getting done. Corporations were firmly against that flexibility since they never trusted people and always wanted to be in complete control monitoring their employees closely. Those fucks!
There was a shit load of work to do for everyone, even more than pre-pandemic in many cases, but the fact that you could do it all at home, no commuting, no in-person meetings, no bullshit, was kind of liberating for the average folks. Corporations worried how in the fuck is this all going to work out. But it did and to their best advantage. I’ve got used to this new work-no-life-no-balance style, but at least I didn’t have to come to this God-forsaken place for so long. It always reminded me of the town which will eat you alive once you are in, and you will never return to where you came from. One will never be the same again. The darkness, the depression, the desperation on the background of tall corporate highrises gave it all a sharp socio-economic contrast.
Walking these streets, I felt like this is what being or living in the simulation must look like. Everything just felt foreign and surreal. The strangest thing was that even in a poor town like this, you never felt in danger. It still felt reasonably safe because of how poor and disadvantaged those people were. Looking at them, one felt compassion and sorrow rather than angst and fear. Occasionally, I’ll see some folks walking down the street, carrying some bags, not sure if those were shopping bags or they just taking some garbage with them around. Poor people always brought some sort of bags with them all the fucking time. They walked somewhere they seemed to know well. They’ve been here a while. Now there is no escape; there is nowhere to go. Maybe they got used to it? Perhaps this is what home feels like to them? Maybe I am the only one who feels estranged being here? No judging the poor folks, but rather feeling sad for them. I am always very sorry for the poor and disadvantaged once. There’s got to be the way out of this somewhere, somehow.
I worked for one of the major companies in town, the major bank institution. There were two significant tall buildings right by the downtown area, which looked very impressive considering its surrounding. They looked like the two tall office buildings packed with people of different ranks, and they must’ve been swamped and very much occupied in those buildings working towards something, working for the system. I knew the truth. These buildings were there for the show-off reason, just an illusion. Even in pre-pandemic times, these buildings were semi-occupied. My floor was half-full back then, now it was one-third of what it has been. There were ghost floors as well, with no people there at all. There were floors where just a handful of people were located. What was the need for it all? Why keep all these buildings if not able to fill them with employees? The answer is that they needed to have the image of “the big guy in town.” The more space they occupied physically, the more powerful the corporation should’ve seemed to be or wanted to look like they were. I knew this all was bullshit a long time ago. I was constantly spinning those ideas in my head when looking at these dead, tall, empty, useless buildings with no soul and not even enough people’s souls to occupy them.
A tax-free state sounds excellent if you are a corporation. They created all those laws to satisfy their hungry needs. These corporate fucks!. When you are just a regular person living here, you probably wish they charged those corporations more taxes so that this town wouldn’t look so depressed. Nobody cared. Even if there were no people left here at all, this city would thrive. They had plenty of offices and companies registered there, that it didn’t matter. They made it all work, just for them. They always do. Overall, these large corporations still employed a boatload of people to their advantage, and no government could tell them anything. The government works with those corporations hand-in-hand. They need each other. Somehow I was employed here. For some weird, strange reason, I was part of the evil of the evilest organization on the planet, the bank.
How did I get here? I wish I knew. I always think about it as a random coincidence. I never thought about working here or in any similar organization at all. But I guess they had a job opening, and I needed a job at some point in time. So we found one another like the two lost souls in the lonely, desperate poor-man’s world. It wasn’t the best match for me, but it was something. Compared to anything I made before, the pay seemed great, and the short-term commitment certainly worked for me. It started as a short-term contract, and I never hoped it to last any longer. I was wrong. Three months of the initial contract got “extended” now into three years and counting. Fuck, I’ve got myself deep into this hellhole. I also have a family to support, and oddly enough, I am the only supporting member of my family. I have no choice but to grind. I am the primary provider, and that is what you do. I am fucking grinding at this, struggling and suffering for my sake and my family’s sake. Looking at the not-even-two-year-old, I couldn’t take too much risk. It was easier to stay, to be part of the system. The man is as good as the choices he makes. The man always has to grind to live.
I never knew what the soul-crushing job actually was or felt like until recently. Until I got involved with this organization, which probably still seems like a prestigious job to many, I never knew how miserable I could be. This one got me and got me real bad. The depression, the stress, the anxiety, the bullshit were endless. The workload or the sense of the work I have to do is less and less, and the mindfuck is overwhelmingly accumulating with the speed of light. There is so much a man can take. There is only so much tolerance, and patience left. It felt like this is the depression talking; this is not me. Shortly, this has become me, the new me, the fucked-up one with no desire to do anything, with no satisfaction received from life, with no personal life at all. All I had was misery. The fucking anguish of mind and soul and sadness that my life gets wasted like that, for that goddamn paycheck, for that goddamn job, for that goddamn security. Was that all worth it?
I’ve tried to find a new job with very little to no success. It seems like there is no place for the wicked. It looks like the gods were not done with my punishment just yet, and I was due for some more. I’ve accepted the challenge. Fuck me up, folks, here I am. I’ve had so much of it already that nothing scares me anymore. Bring it on! At some point earlier this year, when I decided I had to move, I had to escape. I hoped that I would be out even before this time around. I never felt like coming back to the offices again, hybrid schedules or not. I didn’t give a fuck. This is not my shit, not my town, not my passion, not even my life. I have been stuck in this fucking simulation here, struggling to move forward and break through all that corporate bullshit.
I have a free, company-paid-for garage at the hotel garage nearby, and I have about a two-block walk. It is the weirdest and most useless walk ever. These two blocks, right by the courthouse and the police headquarters, are very much uneventful and dull. I occasionally saw some strange people entering and walking out of that court building. There are always some peculiar poor folks hanging around it. I walk this block like I own it, but I don’t want to own it. There is nothing there to own. There is nothing there to look at. As you drive up to the city, taking the exit, there is a sign on the sidewalk “Wilmington. The city where everyone can be somebody.” That is a very indistinct slogan. It looks like you can become as wretched as most of the folks living there. What a fucking bullshit.
There is a cigarette in my hand, the earbuds in my ears, and the black shades on my face as I walk through this little dead town. My senses are getting high, and my heart gets tight as I walk past, and I see the life around me that is tough to swallow. Even after three years, I am still a stranger in this town. Walking to and from the office, I still feel these same strange and weird vibes. I just can’t get used to this misery and social tragedy of this town. I’m hoping the cigarette and the music will make this short walk more enjoyable. I hope to get distracted temporarily while I am walking by. But they only help as much as they do.
The sun is still high up in the sky and burns through every living soul in this dead town as it does burn through me. The air is dense and hot, and the sun in the late afternoon looks like poison. I cross the street with the cloud of smoke high un in the sky. There are some locals across the street walking into nowhere, looking sad and hopeless. I glance at them and then look straight ahead; I walk toward the garage, towards my escape. Some five-six minutes later, and I will be there, sitting in my car, driving off of the garage and out of this city into my life. I will be leaving this fucking god-forsaken place one more time. I hope every time it will be the last one.
I woke up early in the morning Because I wanted to see more of this life And I wanted to use my time wisely as I know we only have so much to live And so much to see. It is terrifying to acknowledge that Sooner or later, it all be gone And we all be gone And the world will never be the same. And us will never be the same As it all is moving around, changing, Adjusting, disappearing with the sunsets, And never emerging with the sunrises again. The fresh cold air feels like life, It feels like I need More of it. The grey-blue sky above feels like home, It is endless, and it is always up there, somewhere. It is time to make the changes; it is time to live I wish I knew the proper way, I wish I knew the secret, but I don’t. I go on day by day, like so many others Wondering, What the next day will bring? And as the day wraps up, we see That it will bring nothing more Then you’ve tried to accomplish. Waiting is a waste of time and Wating kills time and you, slowly. There are so much to see and so much to live So many sunsets and sunrises and So much of the fresh air in the early mornings. Enjoy it while it lasts, enjoy it while you can We’re not going to be here forever And there is no way of taking any of this with you Once we’re gone. It all will stay here, the same, making Others wondering about it and enjoying it.
Things don’t always go the way we wanted, and sometimes it seems like they go against us. My shit keeps going off the rails quite often. The minute I start enjoying what I have accomplished, the ground begins shaking under my feet, and I have to run for covers. I always have to run somewhere, anywhere, run away. Everything seems to be coming and going in cycles, and these cycles and circles just keep spinning and turning and flipping my life upside down. Sometimes it just feels like the gods are fucking with me by not giving me a clear mind; they keep me confused and searching without even a hint of where to go or what the hell to look out for.
With all the right intentions I keep and always try to make things happened, I am striving for success and trying to make things better for my family and me. But there are moments like this where I have just stuck. I don’t even know what’s stopping me, what’s against me, and why in the fuck I get lost so often. It just happens so. I look around; the wife is here, the babe, the apartment, the neighborhood, I am here too. What’s wrong, then? There is the same face in the mirror every day, which keeps getting older and sadder. The same fresh and cold water in the sink has no taste or smell. The clouds are always there up in the sky. They are, too, all the same, dull and meaningless. They come and go and then come and go again. This is the movement of life.
I’ve always been told the right way of doing things and the proper way of going about my life. And I’ve followed. Now I am here in my life where just some ten years ago, I was dreaming about and striving to be. I got here, and it is not much fun. It is the same rough life that always has been. There is always endless bullshit to deal with. Then I realized that everything only seems great and exciting in the distance. Once you’ve reached your destination, you know that the satisfaction isn’t there, and you continue to move on, going for more, looking out for new excitement, new goals, new purpose.
Then I find myself sitting in the dark room alone, staring into the darkness, thinking about why shit doesn’t feel right. The past comes back up in my mind, and I wonder how I dealt with similar challenges. How I got to where I am now, how I beat the status quo, how I made my own way here. And now, where do I go from here? It is easy to stick in the past and dwell on it and reminisce for nostalgic reasons. I do that from time to time. But I know that I cannot remain there for too long. Life is moving fast. Life waits for no one. I need to catch up; I need to keep moving along with it or advance in my own direction, but I have to keep moving.
It is amazing how time flew by and how fast I grew up older and how many different things in my life changed with it. I am not too old, and I am still young and young at heart, but I am not that careless youngster who used to have nothing but big dreams about the future and couldn’t wait until growing up to be somewhere else to what grown-ups do. Now I have arrived. I am a grown-up with a corporate job, family, child, bills to pay, and freedom of choice, and some sort of financial freedom. There are aspirations to become a writer and to write I love. I love to get up early in the morning before my head is filled with the daily garbage and put my morning thoughts and ideas on the page. It is mainly a hobby, though; nothing serious. But it could be. I need to focus on it more and work on it more. It all depends on me. I have to do it.
Meanwhile, I am more worried about finding a new job because this one is just fucking eating me alive piece by piece every day. The minute I get comfortable with one job I have, shit starts to go sideways, and I am looking for something else, again and again, and again. This trend is always the same. This part of my life and this fucking trend has to change. On the one hand, this keeps the bills paid on the other, drives me fucking crazy way too much. I don’t know if there is a job that I would love to do for a while. Probably not. Every job gets dull with time, and with more bullshit being added to the mix, the more frustrating, annoyed, and disinterested everything becomes. But it all depends on me and how I am reacting to it and the choices I make afterward. I know I have good inspirations and good intentions for everything, but a lot of time, the shit is not rolling my way, and then I struggle, and I lose my focus, and I am back to the ground zero, thinking about why am I here?
The forever question, my fucking purpose in life, keeps coming back to me quite often. One moment I feel like everything is going my way and the right way, and the next, I have no idea or no control over anything. What should I do? Keep adjusting to the current flow? Get the fuck out of that flow? Mind my own business? Or suffer in the name of a secure, humble living? Somebody once said, if something feels wrong, it probably is wrong. There is another saying that goes something like this, where you are now is the result of who you were back then and what did or didn’t do that brought you here. Butchering this great saying in my own way, but the just of it is there. There are a lot of great things that I did in my life that I am proud of. There are many that I wish I did more of or started sooner, and there are plenty that I wish I’d never done. Everything always has been in perspective, and there are always quite a few things on the scales for me to evaluate the importance of and decide to go after, prioritize or leave the fuck out.
Somehow I ended prioritizing shit that now eats me alive. Shit, that is disturbing me from doing the very few things that really bring joy and purpose into my life. Eventually, I am more involved in shit that is not letting me live the life that I want. That shit keeps me away from my dreams and inspirations and prevents me from making critical steps in life. This is a trap. Fucking corporate trap. Life’s trap. This fucking economy, the job market, the corporations, banks, small business, technology, and everything else is out of their fucking mind and out of control. The people factor is not essential anymore to anybody; it is just the checkboxes on the list that had to be checked and the spreadsheets on the screen which have to balance out. I get that. I understand that, but somehow I am finding myself in this situation again and fucking again, sacrificing my life for the shit that makes me so much more miserable. Why? Because I am a moron. This is an honest answer. Because I cannot yet or have not yet made that right decision towards my personal best interests. I am choosing the safest route all the time.
Maybe this is the time, right here and right now, to figure out and make the tough choice? Make the choice that is mine and works for me? Works for my purpose? Maybe the safe way of living is not really leading me to nowhere? Maybe there is no safer way in anything, and everything has a fucking trap and has second meanings? I think about this situation where I am so lost and have no idea of any directions moving forward that something led me here, and somebody wants me to take the lead and make a change.
The change is always constant, and the change is what has to happen all the time, and I have to change with it. I need to figure out what that change will be and embrace it. I need to have a clear mind about my values and my priorities and how I can be the best me I can be today. I think I am on the right way. I know my heart is in the right place. It is just a matter of time to get these depressing black and hazy clouds out of my fucking mind to clearly see what is out there for me what I should go after. It is still dark, too dark to see at this time…
I’ve seen a hundred sunsets Trying to catch a perfect one. There were many great once But, not a single perfect one. It didn’t matter though, I’ve seen a lot of them already and That has to count for something. There are only so many Sunsets you can see. It only takes a few minutes For the sun to disappear Below the horizon and Drown in the ocean But these moments are worth a lifetime. It keeps me here for another day Wondering In the silence of the ocean breeze, Watching a hundred sunsets disappear.
It was night and dark outside. She and I were on the beach in Miami. I had a glass of red wine in my hand, and she had a cup of hot black tea. We were not married then, but we both knew our love was real and deep, and it will last for as long as it could.
The beach was almost empty, and the ocean was dark with just some sparks here and there, reflecting the city lights on the water and the moon and the stars in the deep, dark, faraway sky. We were silent, sitting close to each other as one. We did not need to talk at all; we understood everything at that moment. It was love. It was us. It was our future together, which we didn’t know yet. But we hoped it would be good for both of us. It will have us together.
I was inspired at the moment, and I knew it is one of a kind. I never had any moments like that before. I knew gods gave me a chance to think and to dream and to see what I wanted in this life. I never had time to focus on thinking about life and the future, and I wanted to do with my life. She was there near me, and that was enough. I was there for her, and I was enough.
I sipped on my glass, looking at the dark ocean. There was a star in the sky, and I saw one falling down for the first time. I knew this is a proper time to make a wish, and I did. I wished to be successful and rich and famous. It was a bullshit wish, but I felt like it was a necessary thing to do. I didn’t care about being rich or famous or successful because I never was one, and I didn’t even know what it all meant. It was just an opportunity to do whatever I wanted and never worry about money, prosperity, impressing anybody, and career, jobs, or anything at all. Life was young and simple then. Worry less.
I wanted to live my life the best I could. How I liked it to be. My understanding of life and its purpose was limited. A young man’s heart is always on fire, and his soul is full of adventure. It wasn’t about being correct or intelligent all the time or only making the right decisions. Wise decision-making usually takes much more time and comes with some life experience. I didn’t have that back then. I had my heart and soul full of adventures and my love next to me, and her dreams and passions. We were in love, and we were in our moment, creating our moment together. We were us.
It is interesting how life plays games with you and what one has to go through until we find ourselves, all the struggles and broken hearts, arguments, fights, and misunderstandings. Everything else that goes along and eats a person alive. Being with the wrong person for some time and then understanding that you’ll never get your time back and never getting your youth back feels sad. But, the sadness filled with understanding and life experiences that make adults out of young people teach them lessons that nobody else can teach. I’ve just had a bad relationship experience behind me, and now I was with my future and the love of my life, sitting on the dark beach at night, drinking my red wine, feeling in love, and enjoying every second of that moment, every breath of that fresh ocean air.
I felt some sort of comfort, and I think she did as well, the comfort of having the right person next to you and the comfort of being in love with one another. I wanted to keep her with me forever. I wanted her to be the love of my life. I knew early that she was the one, and I needed to hold her close to me. When you get those kinds of feelings, you are often right, and you have the right person next to you. I didn’t know when that it will take us six more years before we will get married and three more years before she will give birth to our son. We stuck together through thick and thin, and we are still together, and I hope we always will.
“To a better future together, babe. I love you more than I ever loved anyone else, and I always want to be with you!” I raised my glass to a toast. “I love you too, honey,” she said, “to us!”
The sunrise doesn’t care, The sunset doesn’t care, The ocean doesn’t care, The sand doesn’t care,
The clouds in the sky don’t care, The wind blowing East doesn’t care, The cigarette burning doesn’t care, Even your top-shelf whiskey doesn’t care, So why do you care What do other people think?
With his fame, there also came the consequences. He was always busy with appearances and readings and presentations and speeches and meetings and phone calls. He never, since his last book, had much time for anything, not even writing. His family suffered because of it as well. They became the most celebrated and well-known families in Philadelphia, but his family took a big hit on the inside. He was never around the home too much or too often. He was always on the move and busy with something else. He had affairs that his wife was aware of, and this was the reason for their divorce. They divorced two years ago. Now each lived their own lives. The wife kept the place on the Rittenhouse square and the house in the suburbs, and Mark kept the Old City’s condo and the beach house. Their son was now in college and lived on campus by himself. He visited both mom and dad whenever he needed something, mostly when he needed the money. He was a celebrity on his campus and was busy managing the school, friends, and multiple girlfriends. Mark had numerous girlfriends himself. There was always a fan who would like to meet him and ask about the writing and a piece of advice and eventually have sex with a successful writer himself. The phone rang again.
“Hi, is this Mark McGuire?” the voice asked. “Speaking, how may I help you?” Said, Mark. “I would like to have you on our show in New York sometime next week. We are doing a round of interviews with successful people in today’s culture, and we would very much like to have you on.” “Ok, I think I could make it. When is that interview going to take place?” “Next Tuesday night, we will be live. “Ok, sounds good.” “Thank you, sir. Have a great day.” “Likewise. Good-bye.”
It has been just another afternoon, and Mark knew that the writing wasn’t happening for him today. He felt helpless and hungry. Mark needed some good food, steak, maybe? He called downtown Del Frisco for a reservation. They always had the best table for him. Every time he called or just showed up, a friendly waiter and valet parking person smiled and greeted him. Mark drove his Porsche up to the restaurant’s entrance, leaving the car with the valet before entering the building.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McGuire!” Said the waiter greeting Mark at the entrance, smiling like a hundred-dollar tip. “Good afternoon,” said Mark. “How are you today, sir?” “I am well, thank you. Just a little bit hungry.” Mark said, smiling back at the waiter. “We will take care of that for you, sir. Please, follow me,” said the waiter and guided Mark to his table. Today he was seated in the far-right corner. It felt more personal and private, just like he liked it. “May I have a double shot of Johnny Walker Blue label and Bone-in prime strip with brussels sprouts, please.” “How would you like your steak done?” “Medium well, please.” “Will do. Ok, thank you, sir. Your drink will be out in a minute, and you will have your steak ready for you as you like it.” Said the waiter leaving his table smiling.
There were not too many people at the restaurant at this time around. There were a few other visitors here and there, some business lunches, and few affluent locals who loved to eat a steak for the late lunch. Mark’s drink arrived, and he sipped on it. It felt great. The expensive whiskey always tasted like a victory, like success like the fresh air. Mark loved his whiskey. The steak arrived sometime later, and Mark ate it with passion. He ordered a couple more whiskeys, drained his glass, paid, and went outside. The valet brought his car. “Here you go sir, have a great day.” “Thank you, you as well.” Said Mark and rolled down the fifteenth street to Locust and the Philadelphia orchestra parking lot. They were performing Brahms at 3 pm. Mark loved Brahms. He parked and went to the hall.
After the performance ended, there were standing ovations, as usual. There was something about watching the symphony music played live. One could witness how these most fabulous sounds in the world were made right there in front of their eyes. All the musicians played their instruments perfectly, manufacturing their perfect sound with their gentle gestures against the instruments. Mark was fascinated. He was a regular visitor at the Philadelphia orchestra for quite some time. After the orchestra, he decided to drive around the City. He drove his car on Broad Street, the Avenue of Arts, the most luxurious and beautiful and artistic streets in Philadelphia. He watched people walking on the sidewalk; life moved around him.
Every person had their own story. Mark saw some homeless people sitting on the pavement begging for money; there were plenty of them in Philly all around. He drove down to JFK boulevard and Market street, observing everything. Driving around the City without any directions was like therapy for Mark. It was a great time to think about his life, city life, and others people’s lives. He played some classical music in his car, which always helped to clear his mind. Mark remembered how he was driving around the City in his old car when he was a young lad. After a stressful day at school, he would get in his car, get some coffee and cigarettes, drive around and just observe everything. Often, he would find himself going through the neighborhoods he has never been to before. The diversity of Philadelphia was fascinating. The neighborhoods built by the poor emigrants; everyone lived in their tiny communities, preserving the culture and the tradition of their homeland while trying to make it in America. This feeling was very familiar to Mark; his parents raised him like that.
His parents came here with nothing but a dream and high hopes for a better future for him. Even though they were not around anymore, Mark still remembered to visit them at the cemetery and leave some flowers for them. “You would be proud of me now, mother, dad. I did make it; I am a famous writer now. You said back in the day that I should better focus on the business career and try to find a job in my field of Economics, but I just loved writing so much more. Look at me now, and the writing made me a great man, the most celebrated writer in Philadelphia. I hope you are doing ok up there. Please pray for my family and me. Please ask God to help me write. I will be back to revisit you, I promise, I’ll visit soon. Take care of you both now.”
His first book, “Immigrant Song,” was about the life of an immigrant family in Philadelphia who struggled to live up to their American dream. This book was his first outbreak and his first success. The book was a story of underdogs, about endless struggle, misery, hope, and continuous perseverance. The first book was based on Mark’s personal experience. All these struggles shaped him to be the man and the writer he became. He forgot about it all a long time ago. The City was different back then. It wasn’t like it is now. Everything had a sad, depressing tone, and everything was colorless, gray, and muddy. The City seemed dangerous and nothing like it is now. There wasn’t much of “the brotherly love” left in this place back then, and even now, sometimes it seems to be the case. Everyone was fighting for their place under the sun, for their success, trying to survive. For Mark McGuire, love had a different meaning. Everyone loved him, even if he hasn’t written anything lately. It didn’t matter to the people. Once someone breaks through the regular bullshit and poverty into the world of recognition and fame and luxury, one becomes a different kind of human. You feel untouchable, indestructible, and you think above everybody and everything. Maybe that was the path of his self-destruction and creative misery?
On his way home, his son called. “Dad, I need a few hundred bucks. Can I stop by your place sometime today?” “Hey son, how’s life? Sure, stop by. I’ll be home in about 35 minutes.” Said, Mark. “Ok, thanks, dad. I am alright, taking this girl out tonight. I need some cash.” “I got you, son. Stop by later then. Ok?” “Ok. See you soon, dad. Thanks.”
Mark returned home, open the fridge, and got himself a bottle of beer. He sat on his couch watching through the window overlooking the City. He wanted to relax a bit and wait for his son to come over. His phone rang again. It wasn’t his son; it was his ex-wife.
“Hey Mark, my lawyer sent you some papers to sign. Did you get them?” “I’ve been doing great sweetheart, how about you?” “Mark, I’ve been same old great, thanks for asking. Can you please sign and return the documents?” “Maybe I can. Do I want to do that? Absolutely not. Why? Because I don’t care.” “Mark, can you stop it already, please? Just sign the damn papers, and let’s part ways once and for all. Shall we?” “Sure, we shall. I just cannot wait. How’s your new boyfriend doing? He still lives under my roof on Rittenhouse square?” “Mark, stop it! This is not your business. This is my life now, my private life, and I shall not respond to you and your stupid questions.” “Of course, You don’t owe me anything. Somehow it is me who is in debt with everyone else. Have a great day, babe, ok?” Mark said and dropped the phone. He loved to drive his ex-wife crazy, especially now during the final stages of their official split and going through this long and tedious separation process. “Asshole!” Said Jane angrily. “What an asshole!”
Mark chuckled, sitting on the couch thinking about this conversation. He thought about that folder which he received in the mail last week. Mark never bothered to open it after he saw the law office name and address on it. “Fuck, that, he thought, you, assholes can wait. And you too, honey.” An hour passed. Mark was still on the couch sucking on his beer listening to some good old rock-n-roll tunes. Then the doorbell rang.
“Yes?” “Dad, it’s me.” “Ok, coming,” said Mark opening the door and greeting his son. “What’s up, kid? I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s life?” “I’ve been busy with school, dad. You know, it takes a lot of time.” “Yeah, and chasing girls does as well, right?” Mark chuckled. “Yes, it does,” Jason responded with a shy smile on his face. “So, can you lend me some money? I am swamped and need to do a few things before tonight?” “What a rush son, are you hungry? Do you want to grab something?” “No, thanks, I’m good.” “Ok, here you go,” Mark reached for his home safe and pulled a six hundred dollars and gave it to his son. “Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it.” “No problem. Does your mother give you any money?” “Yes, she does. I’ve already asked her for some earlier this week.” “Oh, ok. Thanks for stopping by, son. I hope we can grab lunch or dinner sometime soon?” “Yes, that we should. I’ll let you know when I’ll sort the school stuff out.” “Sounds good. Take care, son, and it was good to see you as always.” “You too, Dad,” Jason said, hugging his father, the greatest writer in the world. He walked out of Mark’s place, closing the doors behind him.
“Kid, you grew up so fast,” said Mark to himself, wondering, locking the doors and returning to his beer bottle. “I remember when you were so young, and your mother and I changed your diapers and carried you around the house singing songs and playing stupid childing tunes and cartoons, anything to keep you entertained and happy. Especially tough was to keep you from crying. And you did cry a lot. I couldn’t write at home for some time because of it. I had to relocate to this place from our beautiful suburb’s house to write. Eventually, this place became my writing mecca. Every time I came down here, I was able to write. Every time I brought my ex-wife here, we had the best sex ever. Every time I brought any other girl after my Ex, I had a great time. This place is full of good memories for sure. Now that the writing is gone, not too many things could make me happy again. We all were happy back in the day. Now we all grew up, changed, and each is full of their own bullshit. How did we get here? Who knows?”
Nothing happened at the typewriter an hour later either. Mark stared at the blank page, sipped on his whiskey, and still, nothing came. His phone rang again. “Fuck! – thought Mark, the damned phone always rings at the wrong time all the time.”
“Mark’s here. Hello.” “Hi babe, are you lonely tonight?” It was one of his mistresses on the line who was indeed lonely that night. “Hi, Anna. I am lonely, but I am kind of busy tonight.” “Busy writing?” “Busy not writing. Just trying to get me there, you know. I think I’ve lost it. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me lately anymore.” Mark sounded desperate yet very serious. Just enough to kill all the companionship requests without explaining too much. “I feel sorry for you, babe. I just wanted to be with you tonight. I thought maybe there is something I can help you with. You know, take the edge off, relax a little bit?” “Yeah, that’s what I need, except that I don’t even have the edge anymore. When I used to have it, I wrote days in and out. Shit. Never mind me. Sorry.” “No, it’s ok, no worries. If you want to be alone, it’s your wish. Call me later if you change your mind. I’m staying home tonight, alone and horny so that you know.” “Thanks for a boner, sweaty. I really appreciate it. I’ll be in touch. I just got to go back to work here. Have a good night, babe, alright?, Don’t get too bored out there.” “Good night, Mark McGuire, to you as well. I hope to see you soon. Love you.” “Ok, bye, Anna.” “Bye, Mark.”
The phone went dead, and Mark was alone again. It felt strange that this girl, Anna, his mistress, is the only one who truly wants his attention. Mark poured himself another drink, grabbed a cigar from his cigar case, chopped the end off, and went on the balcony. It was getting dark outside already, the air felt fresh, and the City was getting into the evening blues. He puffed on his cigar, looking at the view of the City, sipping on his whiskey, and thinking about her. “Anna is friendly to me all the time. Was there a single time that she was a bitch? No, I cannot remember. Even when I ignored her on multiple occasions, she still came back to me with love, passion, and affection. Oh, Mark McGuire, what are you doing to these women? Why everybody has to suffer around you? Am I this bad, or is it whiskey talking? There was no return to my wife, and I don’t even want to. It just feels like getting back home, back to my family. But what is my family anymore? My parents have died, they had a decent and challenging life, but they lived it proudly. My wife has a boyfriend and hates my guts. My son has his life to live and his priorities. And what about me? I am a middle-aged man, lonely as hell, trying to put my life in order. It is just a cigar and a glass of whiskey with me here. Why did I push Anna away yet another time? She is always so nice to me. She always has been. Maybe this is it? Perhaps I need to be less of a macho and more like a grown man? I guess I should. I think I do. I need to get my shit together quickly. I am Mark McGuire, the hottest writer in town and the country!
I wonder when I will start writing again? Maybe this cigar will help. He looked at his Rolex, and it was showing him 9:45 pm. The night was still young, and there is a possibility that the writing will come. Looking at the City at night was a fantastic view. It has always inspired Mark. And he just loved it. That’s why he spent most of his time in this place. He remembered the days when he arrived in Philadelphia for the first time. It was a magnificent experience. This place was so much different and more prominent, and brighter and broader when his tiny hometown in the middle of nowhere. He remembered his struggles and how his parents worked hard to make things work, pay the bills, and put the food on the table. He remembered when his mother told him, “One day you’ll get your education and will help your old parents. You are a smart kid, Mark. I have faith in you.” These words felt like a hot coffee with whiskey down his through warming down his chest and burning him on the inside. Something clicked. The cigar went into the ashtray. He put the coffee on brewing, poured himself some in the cup, and went back to the typewriter. He sipped his coffee, looking straight at the page, his eyes red and tired but focused. He put his hands up and started to type. One word followed another, one line followed another, and so on. He wrote through the night without even thinking of stopping or taking a break. Mark was alive again. He felt it in the air. Mark felt it in his soul. He was indeed the greatest writer in the world, Mark McGuire.
Mark McGuire – the greatest living writer of the present day. What a talent, what a man, what a writer! The man who wrote so good that he humbled the entire literature world, and all the Philadelphia residents cherished him more than anything else. Some would say he was more popular around here than Rocky. That’s how vital Mark McGuire has been to his native Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, the City that gave birth to this great man, this great writer, the genius of the written word, the writer with a capital “W.” This writer wrote better than anybody else in the entire world. Hundreds and thousands of tourists were coming to Philadelphia, first and foremost, to see the City where the great writer lives, to walk the streets where the great writer walks, to get a drink in the bars where the great writer drinks occasionally, and just breathe the air of the City infused with such a quality talent. A ton of inspiring writers would get inspired coming to Philly. Here it is, this is the place, the City that can encourage anybody. Philadelphia, the City that can make you a great somebody. Mark’s name has been part of the local news almost every day. There were reports on the late night’s news coverage covering the day in the life of the most famous writer in the United States of America and the most known and recognized writers and residents of Philadelphia, Mark McGuire. Even though it was hard to spot him wondering the City during the daylight, he was still here; he was around, he was home.
Mark was born in late August of 1973 to his emigrant parents, who came here from Eastern Europe in search of a better life. Mark grew up like a regular American kid in an immigrant family. He was a bright child growing up, a good-looking young man, and everything was alright with him. There was something about him that would make one stop and take a closer look and listen to what he has to say, or just to be around this great man. Mark graduated from a public high school and enrolled in one of the best business schools in Philadelphia City to pursue a degree in Economics. His parents were broke, and he didn’t have enough money to get himself better clothes, a better car, or a better anything. With his outstanding grades and some government help, he enrolled into Drexel, one of the top business schools in Philadelphia. He needed a great school and a great work experience to make sure he’ll get a good-paying job in the future and can help his parents to get old and retire in comfort. His study was tough on him in the beginning. The wealth of knowledge was overwhelming, the pace was too fast, and he often thought that getting into this school was a big mistake. He still had to make his parents proud and pushed himself harder. Eventually, he graduated after four years of torture and was happy to graduate finally.
He has learned some Economics and general business studies, but the most crucial class was English. He took the English class dedicated to the work and life of John Steinbeck. Mark was fascinated with John Steinbeck. While learning about Steinbeck’s life, it seemed to him that a writer’s life was always full of unpredictable, exciting, and exotic events and unusual people who eventually will help shape you as a writer and inspire you to write. Ultimately, life will inspire one to write. In his English class, Mark’s assigned reading was “The Log from the Sea of Cortez,” the novel about Steinbeck’s expedition to the Gulf of California in 1940 to collect and learn about various marine species while writing about his observations and experiences. Mark felt that this is something that he would like to do as well. The life of a writer, Steinbeck’s indeed, must’ve always involved some drama in personal life, drinking, smoking, travels, discoveries, struggles, misery, and desperate writing itself. All these things he will live through eventually. All these things will ultimately influence his writing and will make him as great as Steinbeck has been.
Mark read this book with excitement regardless of plenty of biological terminologies. Mark loved this expedition’s whole idea and thrill, especially Steinbeck’s remarks and thoughts he wrote about in that book. Mark reading “The log from the sea of Cortez,” thought about how fascinating it must’ve been to be John Steinbeck, the most significant American author of his time, living his life full of adventures and excitement while being almost broke financially and while his personal life was falling apart. Nonetheless, he was writing, and he was doing what he wanted to do, creating his art of a written word. He was John Steinbeck. Mark wanted to be like him. For the first time, the idea came to him to become a writer, and it was larger than life.
Mark McGuire has published three successful books and multiple short stories across various publications and journals. His first book, “Immigrant Song,” has put him right up there with all the promising writers. He met his agent around the same time and got a deal for his second book. The second book, “The Houses of the Holy,” has won the Pulitzer prize and put Mark McGuire on the national level. As the sales in the United States went through the roof, the book received international printing and has been translated into more than thirty languages earning him international success as well. “Gods and Monsters,” the third book by mister Mark McGuire received a Nobel prize in literature in 2014. Mark was a proud son of his parents, a happy family man, at that point, and the most respected resident of Philadelphia and the State of Pennsylvania, and the entire country and the entire world. Hollywood bought the rights to all of his books and produced three top-grossing movies. The White House at one time invited Mark to have dinner with a President and his family. Mark has befriended multiple celebrities around the globe who wanted to meet the most incredible author of the present day. His life couldn’t be more exciting and successful. He was the greatest living writer in the world!
Mark owned multiple properties in Pennsylvania, New York, Los Angeles, and the beach house in Jersey but spent most of his time in Philly. Philadelphia, his hometown, had everything his little heart desired. Mark loved the architecture of Philadelphia, the parks, busy during the day streets, and peaceful calming nights of the City of Brotherly Love. The City inspired him and made him want to be an artist and to create his craft. He loved to walk around the City a lot before he became famous, and it was still possible to walk outside and not be bothered by the people. He loved to take long walks down Broad street and onto the Spruce and down to Columbus Boulevard, then take Walnut back to the Market and his bellowed Old City. Mark’s favorite residence was right there in the heart of the Old City, 3rd and Market. He owned the top floor with a nice view of the City, which always inspired him and made him feel at home. This residence was his creative shelter. This place gave birth to his latest third book, five years ago, and since he hasn’t published or wrote anything new.
He was a writer that didn’t write. He had it all and at some point, but everything has left him alone, high and dry. His situation was dire. He thought a lot about his life and death and all the reasons and meaning of everything, but nothing helped. He still wasn’t writing anything new. He drank more too. Mark would wake up early in the morning and look through the window over the dark and still sleepy City. He found this view very comforting and inspiring in the way. Mark loved to get up early in the morning and watch the sun rising and observe how the color of the sky changed, often with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had his typewriter ready to go, but still, nothing came to him. Mark would stare at the blank sheet of paper for a long time. His face would freeze in the sad and thoughtful grimace, thinking about what he should be writing next.
“I am Mark McGuire, the greatest writer in the world! Isn’t it? I used to write well. I used to write days and nights, tired and starved, with a shitty laptop and a word processor, and there were so many great stories and ideas to write about! Where are they now? Why did they all leave me here all alone and desperate? I need to get back to business; I need to write something. It’s been five damned years since my last book. I need to show people some new work, and it got to be good. It better be good! Not good, but great! Yes, it better be great, another great book by Philly’s famous one and only, Mark McGuire! And I feel like I also need some coffee.” He went to the kitchen to brew some fresh, strong black coffee. Pure black was his favorite. Sipping at his coffee from the large white ceramic mug, Mark was staring at another sunrise, looking into the infinite skies thinking. “Maybe I should go for a run while the City is waking up and there aren’t too many people outside? I think I need to get back in shape, both physically and in writing. I need to be strong and active.”
He dressed in his running clothes and running Nike sneakers and went outside. It was September out, and the air was still warm but somehow very clean and fresh this early morning. Mark stretched his legs and started jogging down the street. He ran for about 40 minutes one way and then returned home. Running in the morning in the City was great. As he ran, he listened to a classical station on his phone. The classical music in the morning did the trick. He felt so elevated and fulfilled while listening to it. The running seemed to come easy, and he felt like he could run even more than his usual distance. There were not too many people and cars out yet, and he found a bit of personal comfort and privacy in that. Mark loved his fame and his fans, but more than anything else, he loved his privacy. He could be the nicest guy out there socializing with other people; however, people tired him fast. He felt exhausted and frustrated and had to meditate to find his peace of mind and get back into a stable mental condition. After about an hour and a half of his morning jogging, Mark returned home. He returned yet again to an empty page.
“I need some breakfast,” he thought and went to the fridge for some eggs and veggies. That was his “breakfast of the champion” – two fried eggs and fresh vegetables with a cup of coffee. He ate and drank his coffee. He felt a little better. After Mark finished his breakfast, he looked at an abandoned typewriter and still felt nothing but sadness. It was time for his morning meditation. Mark loved to sit in his favorite rocking chair and drink or listen to music or meditate. Mark meditated for at least thirty minutes every day. Meditation was his remedy for going insane. Writing could’ve been the most liberating and fulfilling thing, or it could turn out to be the most depressing, uneventful, and devastating experience for a writer. Mark has had it all. He’s been around for long enough; he knew things, he knew what it meant to be a writer, especially a good writer.
“I need to write something now. I know I can. Maybe not today, maybe tomorrow? Who knows, I just hope it will come back to me. I wish this meditation helped more, or whiskey, or even running. Fuck, anything would be helpful to get me started at the typer. Once I am there, I am truly there. I can kill, I can destroy, I can write like no one around! Maybe, I just need to relax a little bit more and watch some TV or something?”
TV bored him fast; there was nothing on it that would fascinate him. “I’d rather read a book.” Mark grabbed “Ask the Dust” by John Fante and started reading. Oh, John Fante! The lost and long-forgotten one of the Great American writers! What a man! What a writer! Reading Fante was like breathing the fresh air. His writing always seemed so easy and smooth and funny and nicely composed. Mark admired John Fante a lot. He was another significant influence on Mark’s writing. Reading anything Fante did would make any idiot start writing himself. He read for about two hours and stopped, then went to his home bar and grabbed himself a glass of whiskey. Whiskey felt good. He sat back in his chair and read some more. After a while, he thought he could go back to his writing again. He was standing before his typewriter, looking at this machine with slight curiosity. “Ok, my dear friend. I want you back. I want to be friends with you again. Help me put a few pages, and I will never forget your generosity, and I shall always cherish our friendship.” He came closer and started to type:
“It has been a cold and dark morning, and the City was still asleep. John woke up after he heard the harsh noise which came from the street. He wondered what the hell that was. He woke up and took a shower. The shower felt sobering and refreshing, and John felt better and calm. Even yesterday’s hangover was gone within minutes. His wife called him a day before, and he refused to talk to her. They were divorced for the last two years but still had to talk to each other from time to time, especially to discuss the alimony payments and when the child can stay over. John had enough of that. He wanted to move on. He wanted to leave town, but he couldn’t. He missed his son and loved him dearly. Why was he ever involved with this woman in the first place? Why was he so stupid?”
Mark stopped for a moment, re-filled his whiskey, and tried to continue but didn’t know how to. He stared some more at the half-full page. He needed some more time to focus. He stepped back, turned to the window with the city view, and watched people move on the streets and cars drive back and forth. The City was alive and busy again. There is so much life in there. Mark felt nostalgic for a moment. He reminisced about the days when he was a poor student, with no car, no money, no books published. How simple was life back then? How great and terrifying it felt not to know what the next day will bring and not to be sure if the very few dollars in your pocket will last long enough. He was young and starved, and there was something about that state of mind. When your back is against the wall, and you have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, you act fast, you think quickly, have no time to discuss anything, no time for bullshit, only actions, clear, precise, concrete steps. Those actions made him write in the first place. He wrote his first book in about three months. He remembered the feeling of finishing his last page and then just stare at the pile of paper. “This is my book! My very first book!” He said, smiling proudly. That moment was worth reliving a hundred times.
Moments like that usually don’t happen too often. Unfortunately, things were not so easy as they seemed. He was not starving; he wasn’t hungry; he wasn’t in the state of his back-against-the-wall. Once the most celebrated people in Philadelphia, he was wealthy, well-respected, and an established writer. He did not wish for anything anymore and for many-many more years to come. His wife divorced him two years ago, and now he had a lot more time to spend on his writing. And he did, but he didn’t write. It just didn’t come to him. Whatever came out of him went straight into a trash bin. The writing was never easy. The writing was never easy for anybody, not even for Fante. The phone rang.
“Hello, this is David Fitzwater, from The Philadelphia Inquirer. I would like to speak to Mark McGuire if possible?” “Mark McGuire’s listening.” “Hello, Mr. McGuire, I am the main editor of Philadelphia Inquirer, and we would like to do an interview with you and let our people, Philadelphia residents to know what you have been working on and how your life is going these days. Would you be willing to sit down with me for an interview?” “Um, sure, let’s do this.” “How about tomorrow, if possible? Afternoon works?” “Yeh, tomorrow afternoon works; around 1 pm is good for me.” “Sounds good, Mark. Thank you very much. I am looking forward to talking to you tomorrow. You have a great day yourself.” “Thank you, David, you as well. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He hung up. One more interview to talk about nothing. Because nothing mostly was happening in his life. People asked him to do an interview almost every day, either for journals, newspapers or TV shows. He had his “great life story” ready to go. However, not everything was so great and smooth in his life anymore. After the third book, when the big success hit him, everything changed. One might think that he had finally achieved what all writers in the world would like to achieve, the Nobel prize in literature, worldwide success, and endless fame, limitless possibilities, and opportunities in movies, books, and TV. Everything changed entirely for Mark to the worst.
Constantly running after Something, Constantly trying to prove Something, Constantly trying to escape from Something, Never a minute of stillness, Never a chance for a break One hustle after another The man has to live his life This way Until there is still some life to live Until there is still something to hustle About Until there is sunshine in the sky, Until there is oxygen in the air. Hoping one day, it will be better Hoping one day, he can truly Live his life.
I found myself in these same traps again, in this darkness, where the sun doesn’t shine, and I am lost as lost can be and there is no escape, and there is nothing else to do but suffer. Was this depression talking? It could be. It has been a good part of my life. It is present like never and relevant, and it fucks with me constantly. All these hours of meditation and calming this shit down work only temporarily. It’s like a sunrise in the morning obscured by shitty dark grey clouds that wouldn’t show the beauty of it all. You’ll look to see the wonder of nature, and all you see is sadness all around. You know you want to escape, you know this is not right, you know this is not you, but you can’t. You’ve been part of it, a significant portion of it.
Charles Bukowski wrote, “We don’t even ask happiness, just a little less pain.” Everything will pass someday, somehow, someway. I hope it will. I never liked to be part of this, and this is not the way I am. It just fucking drags you into this mud and smears the fuck out of it on your face and soul. You try to wipe it off, wipe it out, but with time it doesn’t matter. It won’t help you. And you are infected with it. It’s on your breath and face and skin and soul and in your ears and your blood. It is fucking everywhere. You feel it in your chest and spine and arms and legs and brain. How should I deal with it? How to be free and happy again? How to stay away from it? I don’t know.
I am never a sad person in life as I am trying to be as optimistic as possible, but I cannot sometimes maintain that frame of mind for too long. Something else takes over. Even though there are plenty of reasons to be happy and enjoy life when this fucking darkness comes over, I am down on my knees, struggling to get up and look forward. I guess I did allow this to happened to me somehow. Unintentionally. I was trying to make the broken and useless shit work, and it just wouldn’t, and as time went by, it hit me back hard. It won’t comply. There are many sacrifices to be made, and I think I’ve made too many. Too many to count for, but just enough to make me feel all that now and suffer.
People are very good At destroying Everything that was built Before them For them By them. There is no remorse There is just a passion Of destruction That rules their minds That rules the world. Lives don’t matter People don’t matter Nothing matters As much as destruction Of it all Slowly Passionately Deliberately Preaching the choir Shaking hands with the devil Following orders Like sheep Following idiots Who said something To help ruin Everything In the name of war Promoting the peace Promoting a better life. For who?
I haven’t seen my old man in so many years. Looking back, it comes to me that we didn’t see each other more than we did. He was gone for work when I was thirteen, and since that time, we only occasionally talked on the phone. He would visit us about once a year, but he felt like a guest at our house. He was a stranger now since being out for so long does change a person. Back then, I was just a teenager, and not many things mattered to me. I didn’t care. I didn’t have anything to say; whatever parents decided to do was the law, and I could not question or not follow it. We separated for good for seventeen years with no visits, no photos, and just some rare phone calls. It became a new norm, a new life for all of us. Questions about where your father was, were not asked by others because everybody got used to my father being somewhere far away and he’ll never be here with us, so it doesn’t matter anymore.
My old man wasn’t always this old. I remember him as a younger man, full of energy, power, and life lessons. He wasn’t well-educated, but he was street smart. There was so much wisdom in his words that I would learn as time went by. He was right on so many levels, but the lessons he taught me were a bit pre-mature for my foolish, childish brain, and they didn’t register right away. He kept on preaching and teaching me things, and I continued to ignore them. Time has caught up with me, though. As a young man, my old man was always angry, and he never liked other people. Other people were always dangerous, mean, harmful, bad-spirited, and for some reason, they always wanted to take advantage of us. The only safe place in the world was our old house which was our home, which was the only place we could feel safe and relaxed.
I remember when I was fifteen, and he taught me how to drive a car. His lesson didn’t last too long. After the first day, I left the car crying, drowning in tears, because the old man had no patience with me, and I didn’t know when to focus on the road or his screams. The next day my mother signed me up for driving school, and some other man was teaching me the driving skills.
Hope is what we need In all the hopeless places. Love is what we miss When we need to be loved. We reminisce about summer During long and cold winter days And in the summer we want to Cool it off. There is a balance in life That works, and it might not Be working for all, But it makes life interesting.
We’ve been apart too far From one another, maybe too long? Cannot even remember our last conversation Or the last phone call we had. Life’s moving fast, We are growing old faster. One minute you were a child The next you’re an old man. One minute you think that there is Still so much to live And so much to life And the next minute, You’re at the end of it wondering Where did the time go?
There is nothing to take back. There are so many Precious moments in life and There are only so many sunsets and Sunrises. We sure miss a few But we cannot afford to ignore The wonders of nature and How beautiful it is, trying To make us feel better, To give us hope, And love, and life, and so many precious moments.
I woke up in the morning to the sound of my alarm. I could see the world outside was waking up and getting brighter with every minute. The first thing I felt was the wine smell on my morning breath and in my mouth, and it felt disgusting. The second thing I felt was the major headache. I always hated the mornings after drinking and the headaches, and the breath smells, and the puffed-up face, and paranoia and everything else that came with it. I rolled in bed for a couple of minutes and then decided I need to get my shit together and get ready for work. I went to the bathroom, pissed. I was disgusted with my breath, so I decided to brush my teeth to get the wine smell out of my mouth. As I brushed my teeth, I looked in the mirror at my face, which was all swollen and puffy. I wondered if it will go away in the next two hours to look fresh for work.
I took a shower and started to dress up. I got my white shirt and my dress pants from my bag and put them on the bed. I found an ironing board in the small pantry along with an iron. I started to iron my shirt and pants, making sure that all looked nice and well pressed. I was hoping I could hide my hangover and headache with the sharp outfit. I needed to be at work by 9 am. It was almost seven now. I felt hungry and thought about where I should get my breakfast. I saw the restaurant downstairs, maybe I’ll go down there. I’ve searched for an Uber car to see the approximate time to the office. It was about 30 minutes in the morning traffic. I thought I had just enough time to get my breakfast. The headache became worse, and I took out a Motrin pill and swallowed it with some spring water. I’ve got my laptop bag with my stuff in there and was ready to leave. Spraying myself with some fancy perfumes, I looked at myself in the mirror and left the room. I took an elevator downstairs and walked towards the restaurant.
The restaurant was pretty busy this early morning. As I came closer to the front desk, the waiter greeted me and asked me to hold on a minute. Then a minute after, another waiter showed up and guided me to my table.
I arrived in New York City on early Monday morning. I’ve recently got a new job. It was the best thing that happened to me in a long time, getting a new job. After eight months of nothingness, misery, and unemployment, I was a decent human being again. I was back to normal. I could even write again. There was no need to hustle and no need to live on my last dollar anymore. I began to work for a major and well-known financial institution. I was a contract employee, and even though contractors are never even remotely close to employees in terms of general compensation and benefits and all that good shit that we all are thriving for, I was happy at last. I felt like I’ve made it. I, who came from nothing, who came to this country with nothing more than two bags of bullshit and high hopes for a brighter future, have finally made it. I was able to graduate from one of the top business schools in Philly. I worked for various companies, from real estate to medical devices to fucking financing. And here I was, the major player has offered me a new gig. This Company’s name I could proudly put on my resume as one that will open so many opportunities and doors for me in this country where both idiots and dreamers have an equal chance.
I have booked a hotel right by Times Square, on 47th Avenue, in the “tourist’s heart” of New York, the Big Apple, the City of all the Cities, the power, the money, the big shot, the big shit. I never knew before that my Company had three different buildings in the Manhattan area. Two were across the street from each other in midtown, which reminded me of the Twin Towers. The third one was 15 miles away, downtown. Of course, I booked my hotel closer to the two across the street from one another since I thought that was where I was going to. I was wrong. The lady at the front desk has told me that the building I was looking for is on the other side of Manhattan, downtown. Fuck. I took another cap for another $20 to go to the other side of Town. I paid and walked out with my laptop bag and the mid-size travel luggage bag, and the fucking umbrella which I had to purchase first coming out of the train station. It has been raining in New York since the early morning, and the forecast wasn’t any better for the next few days.
It snows today. It snows today again. It seems that there is no end To this white matter, which Just keeps falling from the sky, Like nobody’s business. But it is everyone’s business. Everyone’s trapped now In their houses with all their problems and no escape, Nothing to do and nowhere to go. We sit at home all depressed and angry, And thanks to God for the booze and movies.
When it snows, it’s nice and beautiful, It looks so pure and clean and white, So picturesque, so fresh and new. But later, this white pureness will Melt, and will show its darkness It’ll turn into a black and nasty, Fucking mushy icy matter Which will make your car dirty, Your shoes wet and your soul cold. The third time it snows this week And I am already sick of it. Fuck it, go away, you fucking snow, Let me be free, let me enjoy the nice, Warm and humid, sunny summer days. They are so missed.
And there he was, standing in front of the Man, facing his life, facing his fate. It wasn’t like they usually said it is: the light, the smoke, the tunnel, the virgins, the nice shiny day in the beautiful park with some relaxing music by the greatest composers playing in the background. Everything seemed too casual for the afterlife or whatever that place is called in between where you yet to be decided by God to put your sorry ass into for eternity. It did seem a very bizarre experience when Bob was standing there facing the Man.
“What’s your name?” the Man asked. “Bob. My name is Bob Cooper, Sir.”
Bob answered with a questioning look on his face. Bob was 53 years old, alcoholic, and a selfish asshole. He had a family, a wife and two kids, daughters. Bob liked to watch sports on TV, drinking beer, vodka, whiskey, and pretty much anything that would give him a buzz. He worked for the union, a construction company, all his life, and he drank and smoked for about as long as he could remember himself. Bob grew up in a typical middle-class family in rural Pennsylvania, to the parents of a school teacher and an engineer. Bob left his home at 19 and started to live his own life because he wanted to make his own money and be his own boss in life. Bob was an asshole all his life. Even he was surprised how in the world he managed to get married and have children and remain in a marriage as long as he had. Bob never paid too much respect or spent too much time with his family. He was providing, and he was drinking all the fucking time. Nothing else mattered besides the booze, his friends, sports, and his union job.
Bob’s drinking affected his looks and health, but he didn’t care too much about it. He looked much older when he actually was. He had a heavily featured swollen face; his skin was wrinkled and old. He chain-smoked and drank something all the time. Even on his job, he was trying to slip some whiskey into his coffee. Drinking was affecting his mood and his behavior severely. He was rude and disrespectful to other people, and he was rude and disrespectful to his wife and kids.
Bob had two kids, two gorgeous girls who were always ashamed of their father. If Bob was sober more often, he would be ashamed of himself also. When drunk, Bob was becoming a religious fanatic and was praying aloud all the time. He would go around and preach to everyone. He would be talking about God and how he was a special person to be here on Earth, suffering for everybody’s sins. When he sobered up, he was not talking about God so much; however, he felt like he had to become a priest instead of becoming a nobody somewhere deep in his mind.
Like a glass full of wine Overflowed, And the wine keeps pouring. And the glass drowns in it. And the wine never ends. And the emotions are so raw. And fresh and clean and Fucking beautiful And Brahms is playing the Violin Concerto in D Major And nothing else matters, Any more, any less, Live goes on as it should And we should move on, Somewhere else, Remember that Brahms concerto And the good wine And all the good times And the warm sun On the nice bright day When we were young and We didn’t give a fuck And we were so innocent and true, Just like that violin Concerto in D Major.
I am still wondering six years later, how in the world this could ever happen? Why? I refused to believe it for so long. I could never imagine that the person with so much life and energy could be gone so quickly and so suddenly. It crushed me. I remember that morning as I woke up and I checked my phone, and multiple messages were saying, “have you heard?” I haven’t yet. I am 7 hours behind that part of the world; I was peacefully asleep as the planet changed its course. It was impossible. The impossible happened. Damn. Was it just the dream? Is it just a car accident? Maybe he’s still alive? Maybe he will recover? Why in the fuck did this ever happen? The saddest day in my life was emerging on the early morning of February second of 2015. It has been a grey, cold, nasty, and brutal morning. I still remember that day as it happened yesterday when my hero died.
There are people that once you’ve met them, your life changed its course immediately. There are people larger than life. He was a person like that. He meant life to so many, and he was more alive than anybody I knew. He showed how to live and how to live properly for so many. He helped people to live their lives and be happy and be thankful for the little things. He radiated life energy, positivity, optimism, a bundle of great emotions, and a willingness to live, to live forever. His music was with me throughout my entire life. I was growing up listening to his music and watching him on TV as a kid. Later, as I grew up, I had a chance to meet him personally, and I was just fascinated. His energy consumed me and made me feel different, gave me the boost that I needed to feel life, to feel alive, and have something to be proud of in every breath. I felt that life was great again and worth living, and there were so many beautiful things in life that somehow I haven’t noticed before. Nobody ever has me felt this before or after.
That morning I was about to start a new chapter of my life. My lifestyle was about to change due to restructuring at work. I had a chance to come to work earlier and leave earlier as well. So my new schedule was 8 am, instead of 9:30 am. That meant that I would wake up at 6 am. I woke before that alarm went off on February second. Checking my phone for the time, I’ve noticed all these messages I received overnight. There were some messages from people I haven’t heard in a while; they all said the same thing. My initial reaction was, ok, there was a car accident, he’s probably traumatized, but I couldn’t comprehend that he’s no longer alive. I refused to acknowledge that. I watched the videos sent to me and read the news articles. They didn’t say he’s dead just yet, but about the car accident. Looking at the white Toyota Sequoia wreck after the accident, it looked like it was impossible to survive. It was impossible to imagine it could ever happen. It was just too much to comprehend.
Jobs are different kinds. There are full-time jobs, part-time, contract, contract-to-hire, passion projects, soul-crushing jobs, there are self-owned businesses, gig jobs, freelancing, and whatever, you name it. As many as there are problems in our lives, as many there must be jobs because all jobs should help solve the problems we have. We all need jobs. We all should get jobs. We spend our lives working jobs, making careers, busting our balls trying to make it, or making ends meet. We are always told that “It’s good that you have a job”, “It is good to be busy”, “Busy is good, right?” I guess it depends on what you are busy with and how much of it you really care about. Most of the time, we all hate our jobs, but we have our obligations, debt, family, kids, bills, loans, and we work and work and work until we die.
I am one of those “lucky privileged bastards” who finished college, and now I have had quite a few years of professional work experience behind my belt. I am considered middle-class or somewhere near that based on my salary, and I am supposedly the one “who made it.” I came to this country, and I’ve got my education, and I’ve got multiple jobs over time, and now I am who I am, a professional. I followed the traditional path to “normal life” by getting a four-year degree and working my many career jobs so I could be promoted over time and move from one position to a better one. Back in the day, that sounded like a great plan. Back in my early college days, that seemed like it was the only way to “make it.” I didn’t want to work at factories and construction sites all my life like most people that I knew did. I wanted to be in the office, working clean and safe jobs and getting promotions as time goes by. I guess now I’ve got what I wanted. As this became my life now, I started wondering, what the fuck did I really achieve, and why am I so fucking miserable all the time?
There are a shit ton of people out there who, with or without the proper education, made a tremendous success in life, whether it is building a business or creating a new product or service or new app or whatever. Most of them never got a proper education; most of them were college or high-school drop-outs. Most of the people you know or see hitting the road to work every day on the highway, are with an excellent education are just fucking office people who none of us will ever know or hear from or notice them amongst the crowd. They are the masses, the masses who followed the plan. It is not always bad to have a secure job and steady income and keep on “growing” and living a “normal” life. The problem is the cost that you pay for it. It is not the price of your salary. It is never just those fifty or one hundred thousand dollars in school loans that you’ve borrowed because you were led to believe that you are investing in your life, your dream, or your future. Sometimes it is true, but it is so fucking false in most cases. Once I get a decent job, I think that it will take me about a year or two to pay my debt off, and then I will be free and happily living my life in peace and comfort.
The day changes the night As the night changes the day, And so it goes on forever. There is a unique dynamic there With darkness and daylight With quiet and noise, With life and death, With you and me.
I am here and you are there. You leave and then come back. I talk and you don’t listen. You do something when I don’t. We are just like the night and the day, We are positive and negative, And there is this attraction of opposites Between us and keeps us together. I smile, and you cry. I walk, and you run. I leave, and you don’t come back. And I go out searching for you. And we are back together again. We play this game forever As it all repeats over and over…on and on…
The weather forecast was terrible for the next couple of days in Philadelphia. Jake knew that if it were snowing heavily, he would be out of work again. He needed to work, and more so, he needed the money. He’s shit was out of luck. His savings disappeared as fast as the new bills came in the mail. He couldn’t get to the city to work. Jake lost his office job for the second time in the last six months, and his bank account was slimming down to the lowest balance in years. Driving for Uber was the only immediate option for him to make some money. His situation was dire. Somebody had to pay the lease on the car as well as a bunch of other bills. There were not too many options for him but to wait. The waiting was hard. Jake had a couple of bottles of red wine on the shelf. He liked to drink red wine, especially when the weather was bad and there was nothing else to do but to drink and hope that everything will be alright. There wasn’t much to do at home while the snowstorm was dumping on the city. His car was too small and useless for driving in this snow. Things were not looking up for anybody.
Jake’s wife had a full-time office job, which she didn’t like. Nobody likes their jobs, but financial stability and job security somehow make it all work. Jake remembered the days when he was supporting the family. He remembered the days when his paycheck was good enough for both of them even before she got her first job. He got used to the steady bi-weekly paychecks, good red wine every evening with dinner or on the weekend, paid healthcare, 401K with contributions, PTO’s, and the rest of the corporate benefits that are supposed to make people happy and satisfied with their jobs. That job security and stability are really making a man too dependent and much weaker. When you are always uncomfortable and struggling, you get to enjoy life’s little moments and appreciate your achievements, work, and career progress. When you are too comfortable in your job, just one thought about the possibility of you getting fired is terrifying. How would you live? What would you do? How will you pay your bills? What’s going to happen to you and your family? After Jake lost his second job that year, these questions were not terrifying anymore. He knew he could make it without a corporate gig. He knew that he needed to hustle all the time to make it. He would be driving for Uber to make enough to cover the bills and put food on the table for him and his wife. There is no more corporate nonsense, no more useless meetings, reports, no presentations, and no more pain in the aching young soul. But that fucking snowstorm for the next two days was screwing his plans. He needed to get a little over $500 to cover his bills in the next few days, and he couldn’t leave the house because of the snowstorm. Jake was becoming desperate. The weather had a different plan. The weather was always fucking things up for him.
It’s December now, and it is unbelievable that we’re still here. It is unbelievable that we are all made it and that this fucking 2020 is about to end. Like anybody else, I had a rough fucking year, and as we all know, a lot of weird shit happened that nobody could expect and account for. Fuck 2020 and fuck the pandemic. This shit is about to be over. But is this true? Will the new 2021 be a better year? What will make it better? The new digit won’t do shit about making a year better. We should work harder on ourselves to make sure that we are faithful and better people moving forward.
I ended last 2019 year with a post, and my year’s review and accomplishments in “Time is all we have.”I was proud of myself, and what I could accomplish in that year; in particular, it was one of the most successful years in my life so far. I accomplished many things that I wanted to achieve in my personal life, from improving my lifestyle to becoming a father. Also, I was focused more on my writing, created this blog, and I made and saved the most money I ever have in my life so far. It was true. I had high hopes going into 2020 with my goals were all set up, with lists and priorities listed, and my mind programmed on success. Success is the weird fucking word to use for sure. Things didn’t go well or as planned, let me tell ya.
From the beginning of this year, something felt strange. There was something weird in the air besides COVID that made me feel strange and notice that somehow things are not the same. It almost felt that I was pushing for something that didn’t mean shit and didn’t matter, and I wasn’t feeling it at all. It almost felt like I want to procrastinate more than accomplish anything or push myself harder. Two months into the new year, we’ve got the major fucking pandemic going on with, and the lockdowns began, and later the country drowned in hate and burned in the fire. I knew that some of the things that I set myself to do somehow, I cannot accomplish right off the bet. It just felt weird, or instead, I didn’t feel like doing much, to begin with. I was sick for almost four weeks at the beginning of the year. As I found later, it wasn’t coronavirus, but I was sick as a dog, and those cold / flu-like symptoms would never go away. I have been miserable but still went to work every day and was just dealing with it on the go.
In the second week of March, we’ve learned that there is a dangerous virus in the air, and the company will shut down its doors, and we will all be working from home. I overheard a conversation in the office that there was somebody sick in our building one floor up and that it took these assholes about a week to figure out what to do and whether they need to shut down and announce that there has been a case and that we all have to be careful. No shit. I might have used the same elevator with that sick person. Who knows? But as long I never got ill with coronavirus, I suppose I wasn’t exposed. Who knows how many others got sick then? Working from home felt strange in the beginning, but I knew this is temporary. I knew this was a two weeks matter, and we’ll be able to go back to the office and resume ‘normal’ working conditions. How wrong was I?
It is not here or there, It’s deep inside our minds and souls, It’s hidden yet we all can see it, It’s showing only when it’s time to. The madness of the world And the comfort of the early mornings, The crazy of modern life And the future that is so uncertain, It’s what keeps us up at night And crazy all throughout the day. One never knows what life is Until you’ve reached that point Of madness and despair. You and I will be there soon, And all of us, at some point. There is no escape from life, There is no end to this future That is so uncertain and thrilling, And it keeps us going, all the time.
The early morning hours Usually, go by slowly. They are taking their time as They know that there is no rush. The streets, the trees, the cars are Motionless through the night. They know that There is nothing to do And there is nowhere to go Until the sun wakes up And the new day begins. Everything begins with dusk And it seems like I am the new person During those early morning hours.
Things happen and things change, And by dawn, it is already another day, It is another me, It is another life. We all live from dusk till dawn, Hoping, thinking, struggling. We all know that nothing’s last forever, We all know that neither dusk nor dawn Will help us stay alive for a while, And neither will make us better people. Surely, they will be here. Long after we’re all gone, Before we turn to dust, There always will be The same old dawn, The same old dusk, And the same dull life For somebody else, But not for us.
The traffic on I-95 was dead. My morning commute is usually rough. I was up early at 5 AM and rushed to work. I always wake up early because I have so much work to do every day that there are not enough hours in a day. I am forty years old, and I am the Director of Operations at one of the major finance companies. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and I am working harder every day to make sure my job is done well and on time, and according to the plan. Even though I make a decent salary, I can hardly prioritize my personal life, like spending time with my family. I have been married for 15 years and have two kids, 4 and 8. I wish I could spend more time with them, but I am always busy at my job. I show up in the office before anybody else does and work long after everybody else leaves. When I come home, I work some more and then more on the weekends, holidays, and pretty much every fucking time. Often, I feel like if I stop, the job will never get done, the team will underperform, and the company will collapse, and there will be no tomorrow.
A few weeks ago, I was on the same I-95 staying in bumper-to-bumper traffic, getting more frustrated and annoyed with every minute. The radio played some random lame morning show. I decided to browse through the channels to see if there is anything better to listen to. There’s hardly anything good on the radio anymore. As I scanned through the channels, I stopped once I heard the soothing voice of an older man talking. He mentioned something about “the theory of a thousand balls,” which caught my attention, and I turned the volume up. I sat in my car listening to this older man talking while watching the dead highway. There was nowhere to go and nothing else to do.
“Ok,” said the old man on the radio. “I can bet that you are always very busy at work, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am, old man,” I replied to the radio.
“So, you are always busy, yesterday, today, and you will be busy tomorrow and so on and on … and supposedly you get paid a lot of money.” The older man grinned as he said that and continued his speech in a serious but kind voice. “They are buying your life with money. Just think about it. You are not spending your time with your family or your friends or significant others! I just refuse to believe that you all need to work that much to make a day-to-day living. You work to please yourself! But see, the thing is that you are just like a hamster in the wheel. The more money you make, the more money you will need, and the more money you will spend, and it is a never-ending cycle. Regardless of how much money you have, you will always want more, and you will work more for that purpose. Just stop there for a moment and think. Do you really need all these new things or more things that you already have? Do you need that new car or brand-new phone with all the bells and whistles or anything else that bad? And in order to have all those possessions, are you willing to miss the time of watching your kids grow up, the first dance performance by your daughter, the first baseball or soccer game by your son? Let me tell my story about how I’ve learned to figure out what is really important in life.”
It’s in the air It’s in the sky It flies Like the time flies. It is here And there And it is every fucking where.
It’s on the surfaces of life It’s on people’s breath It’s in on the people’s mind It’s fucking everywhere.
You cannot see it, It has no smell Or color, There is no trace or Texture or the end of it. It comes and goes And comes back again Stronger than before.
It grows It spreads It is in our bodies And our antibodies Saying “Fuck it!” It is part of our lives now, It is behind our masks, And it is up in the air, It is just every fucking where And we have to live with it.
I am a happy man. I know I am. Even when things don’t seem to work out to my best, I think I am a happy man. Things were rough lately, but the man isn’t always in control of everything. Things do go out of order occasionally. I stand and smile, looking at the ceiling with my tired eyes. I think this isn’t so bad. Things will get better soon. I know they will.
They say this virus is so bad; they say it is so dangerous and difficult to survive. It is out there and everywhere, and is contagious, and it kills. I am not the healthiest person, and I a vulnerable person; I am afraid of this stuff. I am never leaving my apartment. I am not going out anymore. I find my peace just sitting at home and get buried in my books. Oh, I have so many books! I love my books so much! I love my jazz collection, and I love my classical music collection, and I love to be alone. I love to be with myself and nobody else.
One time, as I opened my doors to take my trash out, and my neighbour walked out at the same time, so I ran back inside. I don’t want to talk to my neighbours. I never have before, and now, it is just too dangerous. I shall be safe and stay inside. I wore a long coat, scrubs over my shoes, a face mask, and the shield over my eyeglasses and the two sets of gloves. My eyeglasses got foggy in a minute, and I could barely see anything, but I have to protect myself. It is too dangerous out there. The virus kills.
I don’t have any friends, and I am not looking to meet any. Not in these crazy times. They say it is so dangerous to be amongst the people. People should stay apart and away from one another. I like that. I never wanted to be amongst other people; I never mixed with them. I have always been an outsider and a loner, and I liked it like that. I don’t need anybody else in my life. I need myself and my books and my jazz music collection. I remember how I always been frustrated with meetings and conversing with other people at the office. Oh, my God. I always wanted to escape and to avoid any contact with anybody. They always talk to me about their lives, their dogs and cats, and kids, and all their problems. How great it is that we all have to work from home and don’t talk or be around one another. I have nothing to talk about with anybody. I don’t want to. My life is quiet. I am different. I am a happy man when I’m alone.
It is fall And the leaves are falling. The leaves are falling down from the sky And on the ground, Like everything else is falling down And brakes to fucking pieces. Little fucking pieces of everything, They are scattered all around everywhere. All broken, and rotten, and dry. It is hard to find comfort in the struggle. It is hard to love the madness of life. I knew that life wouldn’t be easy. I knew that once you fall There is a chance to get up. I knew when you stand tall, There is a chance to fall down. The leaves don’t mind to be on the ground, They are getting older and yellow and brown. The leaves don’t mind to be stepped on them, They know that this is the end. The fall is rich and complete with All those colors and leaves and the fresh sky. I watch them all around just laying On the ground As I walk minding my business Into the madness of life.
This week marks the first anniversary of my blog. A year ago, I decided to create this blog to help improve my writing and do more of it and share it with the world. Before, my writing was very random and sporadic, and all over the place. I had various pieces saved on my cloud drive and flash drive, and nobody ever saw or read any of it. Not even me. This blog gave my writing a new life and another chance, and most importantly, it gave me an excellent opportunity to write more and write regularly.
I decided to create this blog because I wanted to get my writing out there in the world. Before, in my early days, I was trying to submit as much as possible to various journals and literary publications, and magazines with very little or no success. It could be because it wasn’t any good, or because there were too many submissions to choose from, or because of the content itself, or because what I write is not necessary the pretty and safe writing I’ve seen in so many places. After a few years, I had a few successful submissions, and then I asked myself, why in the fuck am I wasting so much time and effort and money trying to get accepted by some assholes who will decide my future as a writer. I wanted to determine my future as a writer. I didn’t have to wait for someone else’s acceptance.
Looking back at it now, all I needed then was to get at least something accepted and published by another publication, so I could proudly call myself a writer, a poet, or whatever. That moment came, and it was a very proud moment in my life. I was finally happy for a short period of time. After so many efforts, somebody read my work, liked it, and offered to publish one of my poems. Great, mission accomplished. However, that feeling of great success was relatively short-lived, and soon I felt empty again. I mean, it wasn’t enough. I thought that I need to do more, that I need to write more, and for fuck’s sake, I need to stop worrying about being accepted and published. All I needed was to focus on my writing, and work it out, develop my style, work on my poems, craft my lines, develop my sentences, dialogues, prose, all of it. Finally, I was able to write whatever hell I wanted, and it all is published now, here on this blog.
Hello, world! What the fuck is wrong with you? I mean, it seems like just yesterday everything was okay and then, all of a sudden, everything and everybody went fucking crazy. People lived their lives, going to work, raising and feeding their families, enjoying its moments, and taking it all for granted. And now, it seems like we all are fucking hating each other, want to crush each other, want to ruin whatever we have built this far. This is not how a community survives. This is not how the country survives. This situation is more like the end of us all; the end of all the human things that we’ve accomplished over the centuries and decades. Every fucking thing is going to hell now.
It is hard to imagine that we can now build cars that drive themselves, we can shoot the fucking rockets into space, we can engineer pretty much everything, but that God damned virus is something we don’t know how to deal with. And after six months into this pandemic, we are not able to figure it out at all. It seems like bullshit; for some, it has taken people’s lives; for some, it is a political thing, and it also is a fucking propaganda. But at the end of it all, it is just us, the regular people, who’ll get fucked the most. We need to think about us first. But we don’t. We are just trying to find who’s a fault it has been and who we should be angry with. And that, my dear friends, is bullshit.
Long gone the days when we could just go out and about. Long gone days when we were just doing our shit, going about our business, not thinking, not worrying about anything pretty much. Today, all we think is the virus, who’s to blame, who to vote for, who’s worth anything, who should we fuck over, who should we cancel, and so on. We cannot talk to each other, we cannot see each other, we cannot get together anymore, we cannot be in the same fucking room anymore, we cannot go to churches, we can’t go to work, we cannot go out without a mask, we cannot ignore our governor’s warnings and curfews and shit. What in the fuck is going on? When did this all start? Why are we such a lousy, fucking scumbags, so easy to manipulate, so easy to scare away and so dumb at the same time?
Inhaling the smoke deep down As the remedy for life, Looking up at the night sky Staring at the night. Drinking the whiskey of piece With ice cubes and freedom Life wasn’t great lately but There are things I can Still enjoy. Another sip, another drag, Another star up in the sky, The life goes by, yours and mine, As the clock is ticking, As the cigarette is burning, As the ice is melting in the whiskey glass. I know that things will be better one day. I know that for sure, but not just now. I hope I can make it through.
Jack woke up early that morning. He couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t able to fall back to sleep for a while now, but he tried to stay in bed as long as possible. It seemed like the sleep was a long time gone, and all he did in the last two hours was just twisting and turning. He had a bad dream, something weird from the past was going through his mind and his dreams, and he couldn’t lose it. The minute he’d fall asleep, that same weird, strange dream came back to haunt him. It almost felt like watching the same annoying video on Youtube on repeat. At some point, he just gave up. Fuck that, he thought, I guess that is enough of the battle. It is time to wake the fuck up and smell the roses. It is another day, and it is a new day to start things fresh. Maybe it is time to start life fresh?
He went to the bathroom, took a piss, and turned the cold water on to wash his tired face. The cold water felt great. It felt refreshing, even though he still felt the same old tired. He watched his reflection in the mirror and noticed that he is not the same person he thought he was. He noticed that he’s changed. His face changed, his attitude changed, and there was some grey hair sticking out of his temples, letting him know that he’s no longer that young and careless lad, and reminding him that life went on taking its toll on him. Damn, I am getting old, thought Jack, with a bit of sadness.
Coffee was on his list next. Jack liked a good, freshly brewed black coffee, made in the Moka pot, the way Italians made coffee for decades. The good old coffee tradition that stock with people for years, even today, in these weird fucking days, people are still brewing the same coffee the same way. It felt more authentic to Jack and more pleasurable to brew his coffee himself. Hell, it was so much better then that drip filtered bullshit or anything you can get at those fucking gas stations. The classic music radio played on his smart speaker, and it just felt normal. The only normal thing about his life was coffee and classical music.
There goes another poem Just to show you that there is still Something more to say. There goes another line, Just to show you that We are moving on. We all know that there is the way out, But we don’t know where exactly that is. We don’t know how to get there And we all try very hard to find it. To find that way out.
The morning sun will never lie to you But your mind will, You will lie to yourself Looking for the truth, Looking for comfort. There is more comfort in the lie Then in truth, There is more comfort in rain Then in the blue sky, There are better days somewhere Out there Waiting for us With all the rain and blue skies, and All the poems in the world.
We were poor and young and happy. There was very little to worry about because life was so simple then. We were trying to enjoy our lives as much as possible. We were new to adulthood and responsible life then. We were yet to find out all its tricks and challenges. I remember all those turning points that affected me as a person. There wasn’t much of anything to take from 2017 except for this vacation. This was the best thing that happened to me in a long time right before all the shit hit the fan. These were truly the best and worry-less days of our lives, and they still bring pleasure when I think about them now.
It was a hot July of 2017. The vacation season was here. My wife and I, married for about a year then, decided that we need to take a break from everything and go on vacation. I worked for a finance company in Southern Jersey, and she was working for an accounting firm in suburban Pennsylvania. The company I worked for was going through some transformations and leadership changes as my job were becoming less and less relevant and soon to end for me. My wife’s job was an hourly contract position with no benefits, a few hours a day commuting, and the same boring accounts payables every fucking day.
I was on the market, secretly looking for something new. I’ve lost any interest in working in the office at all. But, I had to do it, I had to pay the bills and credit cards and the school loans and anything else that I owed to anybody. This is the game which we all have to play. As long as you play it right, you should be okay. I didn’t have any particular interest career-wise as I started thinking about becoming a writer. I was already playing it wrong. But becoming a writer doesn’t mean that I would pay my bills right away with my writing. Maybe I could? If I could only dedicate myself to the craft more. I surely could. We were both fed up with our jobs, and the daily routine, and taking a vacation was a no-brainer.
We booked a hotel in Center City Sarasota, Florida, for five days over the July 4th holiday. Things were about to change for both of us right after this trip. But before that, we lived pretty happy and boring lives and didn’t have many expectations. The trip to Florida in a car was roughly about eighteen hours, with just some brief food and restroom stops. Since we both lived paycheck-to-paycheck, driving was the best option for us. The hotel was booked for July 4th. We’ve decided to leave Philadelphia on the evening of July 3rd to get there in the afternoon on the 4th. We were going to celebrate Independence Day in the beautiful Sarasota, getting baked under the bright Florida sun. Our hotel was located right there in Center City, close to all restaurants and the best beaches with the whitest sand and the most gorgeous sunsets ever.
“Okay, my bag is ready. Taking that to the car. Are you ready with your stuff, babe?” I asked, feeling the internal rush inside me as we were packing our bags and stocking them into a car.
Ghost town, Lost town, It was once beautiful and strong, Now it just exists, so Empty, dark and grey, and All the shades in between, With all the ruins in between, With all of us amongst the ruins. We were once strong, We made the history of now, Then history repaid itself, We’ve become the slaves of our time, Living in the long-forgotten, Ghost town. I knew you in your early days, I knew you in your prime, I wanted to be here forever, But it is time to say goodbye. Until the next babe, I am gone. I’m filled with sadness and relief, I’ve turned the page, I’ve changed my books, I hope you will recover soon, Until then, you’ll be in my dreams. As a once the legendary town, Of our youth, and the good times Of our prime, And the home for oh so many.
I met my neighbor Gene when my family moved to our new house in North East Philadelphia. Gene was in his mid-eighties then, a short, older guy wearing his old-school clothes and eyeglasses. He loved to play chess, and he would always ask me to play with him every time he saw me around.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gene. I am just a little busy today, maybe we’ll play next time?”
“Ok, sounds good. We’ll play next time.” Gene would say with his signature older men’s smile on his face. He was already excited to play a game whenever that would be. He was old and lonely, even back when his wife was still around. I never told him I have no clue how to play chess, but I always thought, what the hell, eventually, I will play with him. The old man might teach me a thing or two. He had 80 plus years of experience after all, and I was just an asshole, his next-door neighbor, who was trying to figure out what to do with my own life.
I worked full-time then for the finance company in Southern Jersey at the time. I hated fucking it. I hated that company, financing, leasing, bullshitting, people who worked there and bullshitted their customers and bullshitted each other. I hated all people who stuck in the daily morning traffic over the Palmyra bridge driving to Jersey; I hated my colleagues, my asshole boss, and myself for working there and contributing to the great evil. It was around that time, back in 2016, when I discovered and was reading a lot of Charles Bukowski, and my world has changed along with me and everything I was about in this life. I loved his honesty, sense of humor, the ugly truth of the brutal reality, and the never-ending drunken shenanigans he lived through, and wrote about in his poetry and fiction works. But there was something else to it. There was the real-life feeling of hardship and misery, an enormous passion for writing, the close feeling of life and death with all this living on the edge full of despair and failure. Bukowski’s work inspired me to become a writer, and I remember that powerful feeling from the deep-down: “Fuck that finance company, I want to be a writer!”
Everything will pass, Everything will go away, Someday. Nothing will be the same, Nobody’s still the same. These long and useless days, These short and pointless nights This everything will pass. Everything will become the past, at last. This line above is now the past. This poem also is the past. The dark and the light will pass, The birds, the trees, the grass, The sea, the trees, the smile and tears Will pass. The youth, the health, the passion, The shame, and sorrow, the hangover Will also pass, at last. The future, the present, even the past Will pass. Time will tell, time will heal, time will pass. The struggle, the passion, the good and the bad, It all will pass someday. Nothing is here to stay, Nothing is the same. I am never the same As my life is never the same, As my troubles are never the same. Who gets to leave? Who gets to stay? These questions will remain. Just wait, just wait, my friend, awhile. Look at the sky and smile. I hope the sky will stay. I hope the sky will never go away.
We finally arrived in Key West Florida around eight o’clock on a hot Tuesday evening in mid-June. The trip from Philadelphia was annoying and too damn long, but sure worth it. It took us a car ride, two shuttles, two airplanes, a rental, and a total of eighteen hours to get there. I am an inspired young writer trying to make it in a corporate world and my six-month happily pregnant wife, we’ve left for a little get-away right before the pregnancy, and traveling becomes too much of a burden for both of us.
We’ve decided on Florida because it was a relatively affordable trip with an excellent travel package for a week and, of course, because of Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway resided in Key West from 1931 to 1939. His house is a historic landmark and a museum, and it’s the primary destination for so many people coming down here, to the edge of the world, the far end of the Florida Keys. We stayed at Havana Cabana, a cool Cuban style hotel-resort located just about ten miles away from Hemingway’s house. We stayed there for the next five days, and this would be our last trip with only two of us before the baby arrives.
We are marching into the nowhere, Everything is black and white and anything in between. The masks on our faces cover our souls. They cover our minds and intentions.
We all pretend that we care but we don’t. We support the system that failed us. We represent somebody we don’t know. We say things we don’t really mean.
We make heroes out of thieves. We turn thieves into our heroes. The law is something that doesn’t work, Something was written and forgotten A long time ago.
We barricade our future and our minds, We are strong or at least we feel like we are, We demand and we want and we will die for a change, We need to have things differently But we never change ourselves.
The truth does hurt and it hurts a lot, just like love hurts. Our fragile minds are so occupied and so worried That we don’t even think about it. We move forward, we try to persevere, But fail, as the system fails, as the blue sky fails.
With faces angry, moving against the establishments With our fists to the sky and the voices screaming For a change, for freedom, for something. We hope that the change will come And we hope that this march is the last one.
This has been the first, and the last time I saw Anthony Bourdain alive…
JFK airport in New York was as busy as usual, even at 10 pm on Thursday night. This night on May 17th of 2018, we were going home. I got married two years ago, and my wife and I decided to go back home to Ukraine to visit the family and old friends as well as have some fun out there and travel around Europe. I hadn’t been home for ten years at that time, so I was super excited and, at the same time, a bit nervous about going back. A lot has changed since I was gone. Two nationwide revolutions happened in the country, three presidents changed seats, the annexation of Crimea, and the war in the East of Ukraine, just to mention a few. I was planning this trip for a while but never had a chance to do it. Finally, we were on our way.
We’ve turned in our luggage and, with two small carry-on bags, were roaming the airport searching for a place to kill the next three hours before our flight and, of course, the place where we could get a drink. We passed a few different cafes, which either didn’t look attractive enough or served something we wanted to eat.
“This one looks good and has a bar too.” Said I to my wife as we were walking by another café.
“Yeah, do you want to go there?”
“Sure, let’s see what they have on the menu.”
The place was crowded as most of the places in New York. This one was packed, and there was a short line of people waiting to get in. The waiters were running around serving food and drinks, wiping down the tables after people who left and setting them up for new customers. We grabbed menus at the front desk and looked inside. There were some soups and salads, and burgers with fries and sandwiches, and various drinks available.
“I’ll have a burger and a beer for myself. What would you like, honey?” I asked my wife.
“I’ll have a salad and a mojito,” said my wife.
“Sounds good. Let’s get in line. It seems to be moving fast.”
“Ok.” Said my wife, as we left menus at the front desk and got in the line. We had a little less than three hours before our flight home. We were hungry and happy.
…2018 was a bad year. This trip out to Ukraine was really the only highlight and the most exciting moment, the rest of 2018 was just struggling and trying to make ends meet. I have lost two full-time jobs back in 2017, which lead me to 2018 fully unemployed and emotionally broken and financially desperate. That was a moment of truth in my life. I was young and angry at the world and social establishments, and all that horseshit that dominated my life and made me a slave to the system. I thought that corporate life was not for me anymore. I was an outcast. I couldn’t get myself together and focus and work well with other people. Fuck people. Why did everybody annoy me so much? Why did I always feel like I had to adjust to meet some criteria or someone else’s expectations? Why I never had an opportunity to focus on things that mattered to me the most? I needed to make up my mind and try to do something that would bring me joy and help me become happy and fulfilled instead of miserable, frustrated, and always stressed the fuck out of my mind. So, that was it for me, and my relationship with a corporate world ‘slash’ career-building pursuit.
That morning I was driving to work happy. There indeed was a smile on my face, and some weird naïve internal happiness was coming from the deep down of my poor little soul. I felt like life was good, even when it really wasn’t, and I was just fucking happy like a child is happy. This wasn’t an average morning, and my mood on an ordinary morning while driving to work is rather pissed. Iggy Pop played in my car, “I am a passenger, and I ride, and I ride…” blasted from my speakers as I’ve was driving into the morning madness of work and school traffic and all those poor schmucks who were out there just like me, early in the morning trying to make it happen for them. I didn’t care for them, I barely cared for myself. But I was trying to make it.
I was a poor fucking immigrant who somehow ended up working for a company that I despised for everything they did, everything they stood for, and I hated all those fuckers I had to face every day in the office. The reason I was happy that morning was that Iggy Pop was in town, and I was going to see his concert later that day in downtown Philly. The one and only, the mean and cool, the Godfather of Punk, Iggy fucking Pop, was on tour with his new band, new music “Post Pop Depression,” and I would never miss the chance to see that show. It was a great fucking day for me at once, and I still recall that great feeling four years later.
I’ve listened to Iggy Pop’s music all day long, at the gym in the morning, and at work in the office while working. Even listening to his music made me feel different, made me feel like I don’t give a fuck, made me feel like all the lost souls feel than they find themselves desperate and misunderstood. It was a Friday, the fucking long-time coming Friday of April 15, 2016. I usually didn’t have too much work to do on Fridays, but that one was pretty fucking occupied. I didn’t mind. I had plans for the night, I had a concert to go to and needed the time to pass by as fast as possible.
The times are changing Our lives are changing Our usual day-to-day is not What is has been anymore. The thoughts about what can go wrong, When life is so good, they are now in the past. Have changed to thoughts like How will we survive? How we can make sure Do we have enough of everything to carry on? The virus is spreading like the early Spring’s warm breeze And it is blooming at the same time The first flowers on the trees are blooming In the Spring. Death is blooming too. The virus is beautiful just like the blossom It has these little crowns, It is hard to resist, it is everywhere, It takes your breath away, It is impossible to stop. Simple things like enjoying the warm sunny days, Like enjoying the blossom blooming, Like breathing the air become deadly things, Dangerous, contagious.
We are covering our mouths with masks We are covering our hands with gloves, We are covering our souls with greed We are covering our minds in darkness. The strong will survive, The smart will survive, The careful will survive, An idiot will spread it all over And give the virus a life, a chance. We all need a chance, we all need to live We only have one life, and there are no returns, No second chances. With are fridges filled-up, with our pantries filled-up, We sit in our homes, isolated, Away from each other, Hoping for the best future, Hoping it will go away soon. Will go to work, those who still have one, Will resume our vacation plans, Will re-invest our portfolios, Will see another day, But we all will be different people then.
Maybe we’ll learn to appreciate the little things In life, Perhaps we’ll learn to share With one another, Perhaps we’ll learn to survive And to help, Perhaps we’ll learn to be mindful, And to be human again?
It is another month, another day or rather another evening as I am writing this and life goes on. I haven’t noticed how one month became another, and here we go, welcome all to March. It’s been a busy couple of months of this new year so far. Everything was happening too fast too much, and there was no way of stopping it until recently. Maybe that is why the time just flew by over my head without notice. Is it because I am getting old faster? Or is the world coming to an end? The older I become, the more I think about life, mortality, diseases, and what the future is holding for us. Nowadays, that the novel virus is in the air pretty much everywhere, everyone is wondering what the fuck is that going to be like?
Just about two weeks ago it all was just another media story, another hype, just so foreign and so far, and away. Two weeks later, it became a disaster, and we don’t know how we are going to deal with it. I mean, we do know, but do we do enough to prevent the spread of this virus? Not really. There are still so many people ignoring all the warnings, and then we see a whopping seven hundred plus percent increase in coronavirus cases in the United States alone in just one week! That just tells me how many fucking ignorant idiots there are in this country and how fast they confirm their ignorance and carelessness. But also, it tells me more and more that things like this ‘new flu’ virus should not be ignored. Regardless of the media is overblowing it, if Trump says this or that, if nobody you actually know has it, or if you are on your Spring break, the danger is real. For all those who just don’t give a fuck, it might, and it will catch up with you and anybody else who is not behaving responsibly and who are not following the basic rules such as social distancing and washing the hands regularly. It is all up to us, you and me, not Trump, not Pence, not China, not your local douchebags representatives, who only get involved with you when they need your vote. It is up to us because it is about our lives, our families, our children, and our future.
I woke up with a little bit of a headache on St. Patrick’s Day morning. I’ve had some wine last night. I was tired of driving 16 hours for Uber and when I came home, I decided to take it easy. My life was not easy then and everything seemed to be working against me. I’ve lost two nice corporate jobs last year and now I’ve been full-time employed, or self-employed, or whatever the fuck you call this, driving for Uber. I’ve become just “a driver who drove random people around the town for a living.” I was also an inspired writer who never fucking had any time to sit down and write anything because all I could think about was how in the fuck am I going to pay my bills this month. Seven years of college and ten years of professional business career experience went to shit and all of a sudden, I was not needed anywhere and starving for money. My shit was out of luck and so was my life.
March 17th, 2017 was a nice, warm, and sunny day. Perfect weather to get shit-faced for a holiday like that. I woke up feeling sick and tired but I had no time or opportunity to recover from the constant sleep deprivation, habitual frustration, anxiety, light obesity, anger management issues, light form of alcoholism, and impulsive smoking. A complete package. Little that I knew what this day will bring to me later on.
The cold water was running down from my faucet into my hands as I was trying to wash away my tired, puffed-up, swollen face. It felt great, very refreshing. I don’t think it was helping my bad life situation and overall sadness but it was something. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, and made my breakfast. The usual routine. Nothing special. I thought about a bottle of cold beer in the fridge but then I thought about the smell of it in the car and the passengers possibly complaining and Uber locking down my account. Fuck that, I thought. That wasn’t an option. But it was a Saturday, a St. Patrick’s Day for fuck’s sake, who would ever complain about the alcohol smell? I couldn’t take any risks. I needed the money. The bills were handing over my head like a ton of bricks waiting until I wasn’t ready and then fall down on my head squashing me and my misery creating just a puddle of shit on the pavement. All I needed was to survive another fucking working day.
The dark countryside road went up and down and into the nowhere and into the unknown darkness of the Pocono’s mountains. Google Maps was taking us somewhere we’ve never been before. Driving was getting exhausting as it was getting late into the evening and pitch dark all around us.
“Honey, why don’t we pull out at the nearest hotel and spend the night there? We’ll hit the road tomorrow morning again. I am so tired of driving in this darkness. I can barely see where I am going.”
“Ok, sounds good, babe. I am exhausted too and I need a hot shower” my wife said. I flicked a left turn signal shifted to the far-right lane and took the exit out of the highway.
The curvy exit road took us through the toll booth and out into the town’s street with a gas station right there on the right. There were a few chain fast-food and pizza places down the street meant to be for the tourists, of course, to stop by for a quick bite of something painfully familiar while being away from the city. A few minutes driving down on that street we saw this classy, red-brick, four-story hotel with some lights on the outside of the building and a dead empty and quiet Broadway street.
I and my wife love to go out into the countryside over a holiday break or just because we feel like going somewhere away from the city and just explore new places, enjoy the view and enjoy getting lost in some weird unknown mountainside traps. We were married for about just three years back then and life was just much simpler and free.
Feeling bad, Feeling blue, Feeling sad, Feeling hopeless. When death comes around And Takes someone you know, You are reminded one more time That nobody will be here forever. We are only visiting This world of life, irony, Politics, anger, and frustration Temporarily. Look the truth in the eyes, Look your life in the eyes, Look inside of you, Who are you? What you are here for? Asking these questions again and again, Hoping there will be Another day tomorrow, For me And for you. I hope…
I started working on a novel back in late 2016. The novel is about an ordinary guy Johnny who is working as a salesman at a furniture store. He’s young and broke and trying to become somebody in this life. He meets a girl who comes to the store and they go out on a date and he falls in love with her. The problem is that they both are coming from different worlds and they are very different and incompatible people. The middle of the story is being written and the ending is in progress. There has to be a sad ending, I think. Maybe even a tragic one who knows?
There are a few other projects that I have in the works. Yeh, a few other novel ideas and a TV show are on my long-term writing list. I know that I will eventually get there but all I need is the time and a proper state of my mind. The timing thing is always the problem. There could be a lot of time but no passion for any writing or my mind would be in some weird place. Sometimes life gets in a way and there is no chance to write anything, sometimes I’d try to squeeze a thirty-minute to an hour to sit down and write something. That’s pretty much all you need as a writer. Just sit the fuck down and write.
I love to write early in the morning. I do find early morning hours the best to write because there is nothing else to do and likely nobody will bother you. A lot of times, I open my laptop and start writing just about anything. It could be the most random writing ever. I rarely know what will come up once the words start filling the page. Then one page fills up there might be two pages and three and so on. Writing is not about the pages. It is about mastership of releasing your thoughts and emotions on the page making the reader live your writing, feel your writing and want to read more. Writing is like a therapy for a writer. When you are all alone, processing your thoughts, building your ideas as they come to you one after another and transforming them into sentences, the magic happens. Eventually, you’ll get something out of your system and you’ll feel great about yourself afterward, even if your writing wasn’t that good. There is also a sense of accomplishment that will give you a lot of energy and will for sure lift your writing sprits up.
The story I am about to tell happened to me fifteen years ago. It might not seem like a very good or an interesting story but it makes me feel shameful of my own ego even today. This story is one of the many examples from my personal life that taught me an important life lesson. I guess they call it a turning point. It might as well be one of the turning points that changed my perception and appreciation for my mother, my family, and life in general.
This story takes place around December, my first semester at junior college. It was just another Friday night and the four of us were hanging out. We roamed around the City, did some shopping then we had dinner someplace and a few drinks. It was a great time. I still feel good thinking about those days. And to be clear, I haven’t had any social life before then, so to me, those days were pretty good in terms of getting some life and getting to know people around me. I, my friend Gene, his girlfriend, and my new girlfriend were best friends in college. We did everything together. We all came to America in about the same time, we all were about the same age. We started college same time, took the same classes, and went out for lunches, coffee breaks, smoke breaks, and double dates.
I was in my first year of college trying to become a decent student and eventually a decent citizen and proud office worker. It all starts in college somehow. Back then I knew a few wise things which I always kept on my: 1) I am nobody here, 2) I don’t know anybody who can help me, and 3) I need to make shit happen for me somehow. These three things basically defined my understanding of life and were driving me through the college years and eventually into the workforce. These were the thoughts of a young immigrant teenager who was brought to this country to have a better shot at life with a single mother who worked multiple jobs to support me and my brother.
The feelings of sadness and emptiness Are filling myself up as if Running water fills up the cup And runs over the top splashing all over. I was left alone and hopeless with an emptiness in my heart And some random thoughts about nothing. Everything becomes nothing When you become less than zero, When your soul is just another cloud in the sky Blown away and torn apart by the wind, Burned by the sun and shit over by the birds. Everyone has its own destiny And the destiny sure has everyone alright. These games with life are tough, One will never get out of here alive. You can smile death right in the face saying ‘Fuck you’ But guess who will be laughing in the end? This is the fight for life and death as we are all getting closer Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute… Everybody has their own clock to punch out When their time comes.
As this decade fades and a new one begins, I am up since 3:30 in the morning not sleeping. The first night of the new decade in the new 2020 year and I am already experiencing insomnia. Why in the fuck I cannot sleep tonight? I don’t know. Maybe that Starbucks coffee in the late afternoon was unnecessary? Maybe I am too excited to be here? Maybe I am just a lunatic? This did happen to me before. It always happens around the same time too, 3 fucking 30 A.M. I am turning and twisting, getting uncomfortable, getting up to pee, my brain is getting all fired up and here I am, not fucking sleeping. Instead, I am laying in my bed and having a heavy fucking riff with myself, debating on some random topic. Here I am, 3:30 in the morning, not able to sleep, having an imaginary conversation with my friend, lying in bed all tired and out of my fucking mind. Why?
The new decade has just begun and I would like to welcome you ‘all to it. How was your New Year celebration? Did you feel a bit hungover afterward? Did you overindulge this last night celebrating and getting all cheered up about the New Year? People always do get all happy and excited about the New Years’ coming. They are ever hopeful and they wish everyone a great year and all that good shit they wish around themselves and others. And then they fucking drink themselves to death trying to make sure that all those stupid fucking wishes come true ASAP in the new year.
Well, let me tell you something. They might come true and they might not. I guess, somebody has to do some work in order to make these wishes come true. Somebody has to make the magic work. Who that might be, right? Bragging about myself, I haven’t gotten drunk this New Year at all. In fact, one of my new year’s resolution for this year is to quit drinking alcohol at all. So, I only had one bottle of $20 French wine and I’ve been drinking it from 7 pm to about 3 in the morning. And I wasn’t drunk at all. I wasn’t even trying to get drunk for one last time. Fuck all that, I thought. I am going to be in charge of my life and I am going to make the right decisions for myself and my family. I don’t just hope that the New Year will bring me luck, money, success, and health, etc. New year or old year, this decade, that decade, it doesn’t matter to me. I am going to be in charge and work hard to make things happen. Only that way, I think, your fucking empty wishes will actually monetize and have a chance to come true. Only by hard work and a proper agenda the magic will actually happen.
I am sure I am not the only one who always gets some good ideas in the shower. Also, I do find the shower a great place to argue with myself, debating on specific topics that I am having mixed feelings about or I am virtually trying to argue with my friend, for example. There is something about that place or the process, something about showering that triggers certain brain receptors makes them produce some interesting ideas and thoughts. I’ve been in the shower this early morning thinking about life. What else can I think at 5 in the morning? I guess that’s all I do, thinking about life.
I was thinking about life and reflecting on the past, as everyone should do. We’ve made it this far, it’s December of 2019 and damn it, this year flew by fast. I have been quite a productive year, in a way; a lot of great momentums were there. I have certainly achieved things that I never was able to on the personal level, health-wise, life-wise and so on. Fuck, I’ve even started my own blog. How great is that? I’ve been running it for about three months now and I enjoy doing it. I will plan to do more writing and more posts as I go along. I hope to get my message across to as many people as I can and to as many people who might find the topics I am talking about relevant and close to their own experiences. I am certainly more organized from the writing perspective now. Posting a new blog post every week or two weeks makes me do the work.
The end of the year is a great time to reflect on past life, on the year passing and think about the future. In the shower this morning I thought about it. I thought about my future and how often did I find myself seeing nothing in there. It’s all kind of dark, there is nothing to be seen there. It almost feels like the light switch has been turned off. I need to find it and turn back on and see what’s out there.
Bored out of my fucking mind I sit here and wait For the clock To strike the 5 o’clock. I watch the time closely As I breathe meditating.
The clock is the meditation at work That helps me to get through yet another useless day. The time seems not to care To move Fast Enough. I guess I should be happy to have a job. 5 days a week, 8 hours a day From 9 to 5 o’clock… Fuck!
I’ve sold my soul to the devil, I’ve sold myself to the corporation. I’ve become who I was always afraid of becoming. I am one of them, I am part of the system. I am yet another brick in the wall. Working towards my career, steady paycheck, 401K, health insurance, job security, PTO’s, sick days, Corporate holidays, office parties, office meetings While wasting the best years of my life…
Sitting here at work, bored the fuck out of my mind.
This is kind of ironic to write this follow up exactly two years after my shit went South. Yeh, it’s been two years already since I was fucked really good by the system. It’s been two years since life had really tried my patience; since gods tested my nerves and everything precious for me at the time was just gone. I do still feel the pain, but it is not what it used to be back then. I am a stronger man now. I don’t give a fuck any longer.
I do like to reflect on my life looking back and analyzing what I have done, what I’ve learned, or what am I supposed to be? Just two years ago I felt like the Earth has moved under my feet; like everything I have been living and striving for all of my life just fucking collapsed. Looking back at those times today it certainly feels different. I have outgrown that. As they like to say “Whatever doesn’t’ kill you will make you stronger.” It did make me a stronger person indeed. I do think though that it is always a good practice to reflect back on the “good old days” and see how can I learn from that. I wouldn’t be a man who I am today if not for all that crap that happened to me in the past.
My shit did have some luck eventually, but it took me a while to get there. I think about life as the picks and valleys. Back then in late 2017 and 2018, there were plenty of fucking valleys in my life. Losing two corporate jobs in one year or to be more precise in just under 5 months. It has been quite a fuck-up on my end. Not everything ever depended on me necessarily. There were other things in the background. There are always other things in the way. I did sign up to be a “normal” part of society and have a real nine-to-five-job and a stable pay and the benefits. I’ve sold my soul, kind of. But, why the fuck not? After all, I have graduated from one of the top Philadelphia’s business schools to get here. I still owe a good chunk of my student loans. Somebody has to pay them off. Somebody has to feed my family, my child, and finance my unknown future.
Back in the day, I thought, I have to get a good education, I have to stay career-inspired, I have to do everything well, I have to do a good job and get recognized. I have to build my fucking career, in order to make a good living for myself and my family. These were the days when carrying a laptop around with you to classes or coffee shops was a strange new thing. These were the days with no smartphones, no apps, no SEO, no bullshit. Kids actually had to study and read the real books and write original essays and all that jazz. Having a good job after graduating from a good school was a sure thing. I could never imagine that with all that technological advancement everything will be shifting and changing so fast, that every day at your own fucking job can be the last one. As soon as all that shit gets automated and optimized for efficiency and cost savings to improve the “bottom line” there will be no need of you, regular working pal, you’re out. Nobody cares about the average man.
At 30 not working full-time anymore, No more jobs, morning commutes, cubicles, Useless conversations in the kitchen during lunch breaks, No more annoying coworkers, no more boss, no more job security.
Lost the passion for life and My path to a professional career. Lost the passion for success in life. Everything is dark and strange everywhere.
Drinking my wine, listening to some old records, The music by the dead people brings back The memories of the life I have never been around for. Trying to write my first novel, composing a book of poetry, Short stories collection, trying to write something, Anything.
I’ve been fired twice this year from my career jobs, My shit’s out of luck, my luck is out of shit. I don’t know if there is any more sense To play the game and feed the system. Fuck the system I say, fuck the office, the job, Security, 401K, the boss, the manager and the rest of it.
I am tired of trying to become somebody I’d hate. I am tired of wasting the best years of my life, my prime time, My prime health for a fucking paycheck and recognition. I am tired to do things that bore me, do dull things that kill me, Things that slowly kill a living soul inside me.
Bukowski wrote “go all the way” and he did, and he made it. I will go all the way and I will try to make it on my own, I’ll live for my dream, living the dream. Living the life of an artist while others enslave themselves Working and slowly dying at these soul-crushing jobs, Trying to build a career, save for the retirement, Put the kids through college, live by a budget, Feed their families, pay off their cars and mortgages.
When will we have the time to live our lives in peace and harmony?
I am sitting here in my room, listening to some old jazz music, Pouring the wine into my glass until full and Waiting for my muse to come…
So here I was, thirty years old, unemployed, broke but happy. It all happened two years ago as I am typing this. November 2017 was a motherfucker of a month for me. I remember waking up the next day and having no early morning alarms set up, not rushing to get anywhere, no turnpikes, no traffics, no more frustrations, no more anxiety, no more work. I was jobless and free. I woke up, got my shower, got my breakfast, and thought about what should I be doing now since I have all the time in the world to myself.
I’ve decided to wash my laundry. I was so excited that I forgot to check my pockets, and washed my “ChapStick” along with my jeans and dress shirts, fucking them all up with greasy stains. Next, I’ve decided to clean my house. I’ve got plenty of time so I’ve decided to go deep and wash everything well, reach all the hard-to-reach places and make my house shine. Everything took me about half of the day. When the afternoon came around, I’ve decided that I need to get some air. I got into my car and drove to Wawa to get some coffee and smoked a cigarette. While smoking outside I was thinking about it all. What’s next for me? The house is clean and the laundry is done. What should I be doing? When should I start looking for new jobs? Not now, for sure. Fuck that. I’ve had enough. I needed some time to clear my head. I needed some time to recover. I’ll go home and write something, I thought. Plenty of time for writing now. I should put it all in on writing. Why not? This is a great opportunity now since I have no agenda anymore.
My current situation and some deep ‘philosophical’ thoughts
Sometimes you might find yourself thinking about something that you believe you are an expert of. Like myself, I am deep into my thoughts and they come to me one after another just like glasses of wine I am drinking, one after another, after another; and so into the night and so into my life. People are funny, thinking that they know everything. They like to share their bullshit with you, trying to convince you that whatever they say is the holy truth, the only right way. Usually, I just nod agreeably hoping to get the fuck out of there asap; to escape, avoid the entire situation, avoid everyone, abandon the human race. Sometimes you may feel like you just stuck there and you have to listen to their bullshit which is just simply driving you fucking insane. Why do I always have to be in those stupid situations, talking to the people I hate on topics I don’t give a shit about? Fuck all that, I think I don’t have to suffer anymore. Let somebody else waste their lives on that random bullshit. I am out. I don’t have a fucking minute to waste on any of your stupid problems. I just don’t care.
I am thinking a lot about my future. What is it out there for me? What the hell will I be doing a year from now, two years from now, five… Who knows? Nobody. But we all live and hope for ‘the Best’ and ‘the Best’ is always fucking busy somewhere else but just never by me. Sounds familiar? Ok, good. We are on the same page then. All my life I have been waiting for a miracle, like something unusual might happened to me because I am a special person, the selected one, the fucking best person in the world. But nothing extraordinary did ever happened. It’s been a rough ride for most of my life. Nothing was easy, nothing was free. There was no accidental lottery winning, no credible person solving all of my problems, no lucky charms, no good karma, and not even a bad one. Always with my back up against the wall, I often think, am I on the right path? Am I doing the right thing? Where in the hell will I be if I continue to go this way or that way or if I just remain standing here waiting? What is this all about? Am I somewhere near the place I wanted to be? I do believe though, that some of these questions will find their answers years from now, eventually. But now I will remain here in the dark, questioning and figuring shit out just like a real man should do.
I get up at six every morning, rain or shine Not because I want to but because I have to. The world is still sleeping, and it is still dark in the room, And it is difficult to open my eyes, tired from the night’s sleep. I turn off the alarm and lay there with my eyes shut. Just one more minute, please God, just another minute. That last minute in bed is the shortest in my day, But it is the time I enjoy the most. Five days a week is the definition of a work day. I go to the bathroom, pee, and brush my teeth. The shower is next, and I wait patiently until the Water is warms up enough to get under it and soak in it Like a flower on the driest day. I am rinsing the fatigue and the sleep of me The new day has come. I get out and get dressed; the kitchen stop next.
I brew my morning coffee next and walk outside to warm my car. The engine roars with pain from the overnight hangover Spitting out the clouds of fumes out of the exhaust and into the Fresh morning air. I sigh with relief as the twenty-years-old engine is still alive And the car will take me to the place which feeds me. I grab my stuff and walk out of the house, locking the door, As my family is still sleeping upstairs. With a mug of coffee in one hand and a laptop case in another, I am ready for the day, whatever it brings. Rolling out of the neighborhood while most of the neighbors Are still at home, I listen to the latest morning news: The state of the economy, the stock market forecast, And the futures are down, and so am I As the inflation is rising, as is my blood pressure, The rate cuts are still far away, and the new IPOs are waiting. The politics is still in deep shit, but this is how it’s always been. Radio keeps me company along my way And in about one hour and fifteen minutes, I will be clocking in at work.
I see those people in their cars, sitting there in traffic, Trying to get somewhere this morning. I don’t see too many happy faces. Why would I? We all are on our way to the places we hate, but this is how life works. This is why we work all the time, even while sitting in traffic over the bridge, We think about the day’s work, and there is nothing good to look forward to.
The office sounds busy, with all those people arriving at work, Some people are chatty, laughing and smiling, and some are just The ghosts of themselves. They know they have to be here, But there is no desire, no inspiration, no life in it. Some days at work are quiet, and I like it that way, Some are busy and not my favorite, but still For the next eight hours, I have to be here. I have to serve. The next thing I know is the lunch hour. The best time during the workday, any day. The lunch room is packed as all of them are here to eat And chat, and laugh and talk business, or whatever. I am hungry too, but I’d prefer a quiet place with nobody around. I eat my painful meal and watch all those people around me, They, just like myself, have no other choice. The afternoon hours are the longest, as always. No matter what you do or don’t do, the time is moving too slowly. At five, I pack without even thinking about any unfinished work As I know, it will still be here tomorrow, waiting for me To get done, to get finished. But I am finished with it now. I am done for the day. The parking lot looks like the fire drill in action, With all those cars lined up at the gates waiting to get out. Nobody wants to stay here any longer, and neither do I. I join the evening traffic miserably, just like all of them, to get back home. The home, that sacred place you spend your life to maintain and finance, And yet you spend the least amount of time there. I see the angst in those faces driving right beside me. They always look like they’ve had enough. They’re tired, confused, desperate, and lifeless. Something has been eating their souls all day long And they are free from all of that, as least until tomorrow.
I get back home one and a half hours later And everything seems a bit better now. I open the doors, and the kid runs towards me smiling, He wants to play with me right away. I look around the house as everything is a mess with all those toys are scattered all around. I know I’ll have to clean it up later; nobody else will do it. My seven-month-pregnant wife is on the couch; she’s tired. She was tired of being tired, and the weight of The new child inside her tired her down. We eat dinner together with some small talk, The kid is getting anxious and wants to watch TV. I am exhausted, but I finish my plate, and we play. We play for the next two hours or so, and then we take a bath and Then he goes to sleep with his mother, just like he’s used to. I stay a while to clean up all the mess in the dishes and remove the trash. I pay my bills, check my emails, and prepare for another day. I go to bed with a book in my hands, and I sleep for the next five hours Like they are everything I have. The man is down, and it’s time to check out for the day. Tomorrow will be yet another one, and so it goes, and so it goes Until we are alive, the battle continues, and so it does.
