Tag: freewriting

bed head

May 15th, 2021

image from Manchester Orchestra – Bed Head (Official Music Video)

May 15^th, 2021

6:50 am

Awfully tired. But that’s par for the course. Not worthy of mentioning. But I do it anyway because it’s on my mind. The tired feeling has hold of me. I rely now, on coffee. Once I drink the morning sauce and it moves into my bloodstream, I’ll feel awake. Thoughts connect. I move on.

Today. Nothing planned, that I’m aware of. A day to mow the lawn. Deposit recyclables Donate cans. Feels like a day to decompress.

More feelings. That’s interesting.

Fishing will come too. One day. Not feeling it at this moment. But maybe the next.

I can’t get the song BED HEAD out of my head.

“…you and I are panoramic…”

Astro chews on rawhide. I put on headphones. Listen to brown noise. The sound of life is a dog chewing rawhide, but I can’t stand it. It’s agitating. Over it all, in my head, is that song. I’ll have to play it.

There.

Coffee. Music.

We’ll shake the tireds. Push into another day. Be mindful, careful, adventurous. Happy. We’ll get there. Wherever there is.

Don’t stop.

Don’t cry.

“You and I are holy fire.”

It isn’t anything one can understand while they are in it. Unless, that is. You get a glimpse. Could be you have been recreated from memories. Pieced together. That would explain déjà vu. Falling into familiar dreams. Remembering things you’ve never done. That you know of.

All of this could be simulation. I doubt it. I think maybe that’s the next trick. Chalk it all up to something that’s been designed, set forth, instead of us being in the middle of mystery. Instead of us having to be responsible, thoughtful, helpful. As I age, I recognize that people often choose the easy way out.

There.

I listened to the song.

Coffee is kicking in.

I feel so much better. Now.

~ KJ
freewriting blasphemy

September 20th, 2020

(Recently, I asked my students to experiment with freewriting…just letting words roll out from wherever they come. So, I thought I would do the same.)

I don’t feel like being metaphorical or creative or moving this morning. I want to get on with the day, but it’s already here. Somehow, I get into it without even knowing. That’s why I need these moments of nothing. Just existing. Some meditate. Some pray. But for me, writing is the way to go. It’s a great way to express my feelings and burn the carbon out while exercising my limited vocabulary. But really, how many words does a person need? Get to the point. Say more with less. Save your savory language for dreams.

This may be a dream.

Occasionally, I believe I’m dead, but that my will to survive is so strong that I won’t let go of this reality. And so, I’m plugging along, going through the motions, creating sequences of events—complete with characters, action, comedy, and drama—because I’m afraid of the next dimension.

I see it sometimes. It’s similar to this one, but has me in another place, another time, with other people that aren’t my family. Well, they are my family there, but not my family here. And I’m just not ready to give up on this group yet. There’s still lots of love and work and play to be done.

Are we ever done?

Do we simply reboot and start over again?

Physical death is one thing, but the death of the mind and spirit is different. They can explain it all away as scientifically and godly as they like, but my beliefs are stronger. At least that’s part of the character I play. Here. In this life. In the next, I hope I level up. That I have grown.

The ringing in my ears gets louder every day. I wonder now, is that the next dimension calling? Am I overstaying my welcome? Are there scenes that cannot be completed without me there?

It’s nonsense. It’s delusional. It’s psychotic. But what’s to say it’s not real?

Why can’t there be many dimensions all operating at once? And why can’t we travel back and forth? I’m confident I can get THERE, but I’m not sure I can get back HERE.

Are moments of Deja-vu evidence? Remnants?

Am I here, but also there right now? And if I am there, how am I operating without my core components—all that makes me well, ME?

This is a perfect discussion for a Sunday morning. Religious. Out of this world. Beliefs hanging on miracles. Angels and water into wine and healing. Rising from the dead. Doesn’t seem all that crazy, does it? Maybe if we do enough good, get centered, keep our bodies and minds clear, we are able to do unearthly deeds and simple things that can reshape the world.

No, I’m not a Jesus freak. Definitely not a Bible banger. Some people go to church because they are lost, but that’s not a good reason to go anywhere. If you’re lost, stay home. Dig deep into yourself without the guidance of those that want you to be the way they want you to be.

Create your own beliefs. Your own religion. Your own church.

~ KJ
Thursday Night Freewrite – My Son’s Soccer Practice and Forgetting Regrets

May 8th, 2015

It’s hard sometimes. To get away from all the shoulda, coulda, wouldas. Even when you’re in the best place you’ve ever been. Living a blessed life with a pretty wife and two terrific kids—another Gen-Xer that’s gone soft and has given in to comfort, happiness—doing what it takes to make ends meet, keep the family safe and smiling, slowly correcting all those moments of sin that came before the married life.

Dark nights and even darker days.

But by God, you had fight then.

You could run and drink and eat and fish and fuck then. And you could write. Boy, you could write.

There was time for everyone and time for yourself and time it seemed would never run out.

**

I tried not to watch my son too much tonight. I was at his soccer practice roasting in the heat, smacking away bugs, remembering what it was like to be nine years old and have open fields to run. Barefoot and wild like some child of the woods. Every time I saw him moving around so freely and flawlessly I had to look away. I believed that if I only watched in spurts it would last longer and that I would have more of him to keep. Dozens of nuggets of memories to revisit and relive again and again.

**

I sat on the swings next to my wife. Watched my daughter make friends with a stranger’s kids. Pointed out a rainbow. Wished the sky would break. Bring us the rain we need.

**

The coach kept blowing his whistle. Trying to maintain control. Exercise authority. Teach kids to stay in position, go after the ball, know their place in the field.

**

Wishing I would have made other decisions is silly. I see now that they were made for me. All I could do was learn how to accept them. And that’s what I’ve done. The world does break all of us. Hemingway was right. And I can sense him tonight. Sitting across the table from me. His big hands pecking away at his Halda portable. A whiskey and soda at the ready. He and I writing it all out—all of it except for a few drops—some starter fluid for a tomorrow that is not guaranteed, but that we know waits. Patiently. Like a good wife and good kids, as you do whatever it takes to mend the broken places and be stronger because of them.

~ K.J.
bringing the stars closer

January 26th, 2015

Out to the driveway to the camper in my pajamas to drink a little wine and string together letters—one key at a time—in an attempt to unify wants and needs, desires, expectations, roles and fears and distractions, so I can strip away the layers, minimize this big existence by focusing on the stars and planets that twinkle with possibility so close, but so far away for you, for me, for everybody.

Kids are throwing grenades in the Middle East.

Islanders are drinking rum in the Caribbean.

An old woman in a care home simmers shamefully in her very first pair of adult diapers.

Across the state, my baby nephew smiles, kicks his legs, watches the multi-colored mobile that turns above his crib, and is happy to move and coo and drool as day moves him to closer to another nighttime feeding from mom.

Twenty feet away, my wife sits in the living room. There is a warm fire solid with orange coals that will last as long as she feeds it. The kids are asleep. Teetering on the edge of dreams. And I’ve stuck myself out here in the cold because I want to believe we can rise above our fear of evil and poverty and gods and guns and money and sex and death and the big silent unknown that’s working its way toward us one tick at a time.

Your day is coming as is mine, so maybe it’s best not to get too serious like this. It is, after all, a Sunday night. There’s only a few hours before the workweek begins and if I think too much about every instance that connects us I’ll forget the importance of this small life in this small town with my pretty wife and kids and there’s a very good chance I’ll get nowhere with this—drinking a little wine, one key at a time—in hopes of bringing the stars a little closer for you, for me, for everybody.

~ K.J.

Tag: freewriting

bed head

freewriting blasphemy

Thursday Night Freewrite – My Son’s Soccer Practice and Forgetting Regrets

bringing the stars closer