From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

In clear and lucid moments, while the world is raging round, I find the calm of day spent, with my head upon the ground. The tearing haste, the panicked rush, would all but take my breath, I often seek the solemn hush, though when I'd least expect, The world for all its fervor, reminds with just a glance, that life is quickly over, we get no second chance. Why spend the seconds counting, every bauble, jewel and coin, when the wealth of your amounting, can't be assessed in what you own.

I am not a "people person"--  (ironic when you consider I'm a bookstore manager who has to deal with people on a daily basis) yet, every time I say I am not a "people person', I am met with the same response, and eerily even the same wording... "you're better with people than you think you are." No I'm not, I can just make it look that way.... Okay, so today, after hearing the same line AGAIN, I really began to wonder why people weren't getting what I was saying--- then it hit me, they've all been "hearing" one definition of the phrase, while I was using the phrase's other definition. Apparently, what I took as a phrase that meant -- "someone who likes interacting with people", can also mean "someone with good communication skills" (which is what everybody felt the need to reassure about me). So, what's the word/phrase for a person who has good communication skills but doesn't like interact...

The sea is such a savage thing, unkempt and wild and dark, it swells and hurls within its rising, and crashes deep within its heart. As life is borne on waves to shore, each breath bubbling at its crest, so too, the life is snuffed before, its light has tasted breath. The cold and dark at bottom's depth, cries loud of trapped, forgotten souls, the surface warmth atop the cleft, belies the safe embrace within its rolls. It would be hard, to not feel awe, while standing at its breadth, when glimpsed within a single drop, the tangled curse of life and death.

What makes a writer? The easiest and most straight-forward answer is: A writer is a writer because he/she writes... The real truth is, there is no answer--- at least not an answer that could comfortably fit in the space of a single blog post, or that could hold the attention span of anyone reading this. There's no magic formula, no magic pill, no magic anything that will make you or anybody a writer... a writer just is. Period. 'How do I know if I'm a writer?' one might ask.... if you have to ask this question, then you aren't a writer. As a child, I was always awestruck by the idea of being a writer. There was something mysterious about being a writer. In my eager, curious and developing mind, being a writer was akin to being a master magician (this was before I realized there was no magic writer formula/pill). I believed that the books we read, the books we held in our hands, were priceless treasures and that the writers of these books were the gods of t...

Feet.....necessary for walking, running, sprinting, standing, skipping, jumping, leaning, etc. The most strained part of our bodies...what most of us use to get from one place to another, from one room to another. They are key in a person's pursuit of something, or vital in their flight from something else. They carry our weight on a daily basis and by turning on heel or toe, can be used to get us out of trouble, or at least out of the way before trouble starts. But, what do you do if it's your feet that's getting you into trouble? A boy in Port Orchard, Washington and a man in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, never expected their feet to get them in trouble--- though perhaps it was less what was on their feet and more what was missing from between their ears that put them is such predicaments. Our Washington lad found himself suspended from the last part of school, all because of a challenge issued by his mother. He was certain that wearing high heels was no problem and...

Strange things have been happening lately to the cremated remains of some folks. Granted, there's probably been stranger things happen to people's remains, but, you don't often hear of it. About a week ago, I came across an article concerning a box labeled "Grandma's Urn" left at a Goodwill Store near Flint, Michigan. Now, I know Goodwill is apt to take most anything. The whole "one man's trash is another man's treasure" is often taken literally by patrons eager to empty their back closets, broom closets, skeleton-stuffed cupboards, etc.... but, an urn? More specifically, grandma's urn???  Who'd even think of dropping off their relative at a charity shop? Is it perhaps someone's hope that another unfortunate soul might want a little portable grandma to keep them company? Tonight, I came across a slightly more disturbing article concerning the cremated remains of someone's father. Jennie Spooner, of Amityville (we'll le...

Whatever you do, don't go home, you won't like what you find. Whatever you do, don't look back, there's nothing for you there. Whatever you do, don't turn around, you'll never find what you lost. Whatever you do, don't forget, it's more painful to not remember.