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Hello and welcome to my blog. I am John Loraine and I am a poet and a writer. Check out my new book, a collection of short stories and poems “Nicetown”. Thank you for reading. Cheers!

Beer-infused rant on Saturday night

~ John Loraine ~ 2 Comments

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.

Poem: Poetry

~ John Loraine ~ 12 Comments

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.

For whom the bell tolls today

~ John Loraine ~ 10 Comments

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!

Poem: People like islands

~ John Loraine ~ 10 Comments

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.

End game

~ John Loraine ~ 5 Comments

“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.”

Poem: Hey, man

~ John Loraine ~ 16 Comments

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.

Poem: Throwing yourself into the fire

~ John Loraine ~ 7 Comments

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.

Another year, another try

~ John Loraine ~ 5 Comments

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.

Poem: The good old days

~ John Loraine ~ 23 Comments

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.

Poem: Morning process

~ John Loraine ~ 15 Comments

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.

Thanksgiving Day thoughts and reflections

~ John Loraine ~ 9 Comments

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.

Poem: Cold morning air

~ John Loraine ~ 9 Comments

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.

New Chapter

~ John Loraine ~ 13 Comments

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.

Poem: Writer or not

~ John Loraine ~ 11 Comments

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.

Coming to fruition

~ John Loraine ~ 18 Comments

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.

Here I go again

~ John Loraine ~ 14 Comments

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!

Poem: Shortage

~ John Loraine ~ 12 Comments

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?

Uber story: Down to earth good people

~ John Loraine ~ 11 Comments

“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.”

Poem: Myself again

~ John Loraine ~ 11 Comments

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.