Out With The Old

The question comes down to this, “What now?”
Life changes in front of our eyes. There are problems and breakups, splits, and tough decisions. There is always something around that opens our eyes to the need for change or improvement. But once we are aware, the question is this: What am I supposed to do now?
Simple answers are complicated. Nothing makes sense. We have an uphill climb and work to do. This is why people have spent lifetimes with blinders on. They’ve kept themselves this way because of one intimidating question.  What now?

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Accepting Nominations

Accepting nominations and compliments is difficult for me. Needless to say, I do not do awards or nominations because, well, put simply, awards distract me. Plus, I never saw myself as this kind of writer.
The longer I am on this path, which I call my art, the more I learn about the person I want to be and the writer I want to become. Humbly, I see myself as this; I am proud to be as I am, which is self-taught. I am proud that I made a commitment to write and stuck with it. The commitment to write is something that I take very seriously. My growth as a writer and my ability to continue, regardless of the readers or the critics, is very important to me.

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More from Abstract: Brain Spillage

I go down the old streets sometimes, in memory of course, or in dreams, or in pictured flashbacks of times when time was less crucial.
Life was much simpler then. Me, you, us, the world as it was and how it’s changed.
I go through the different locations that were if anything; safe to say these were the birthplaces of my life because to me, it is accurate to say that yes, we are born more than once.

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Stream Of Consciousness: Abstract On, Contact Enabled.

As I see it, we all have our ways of doing things. And me, I write.
I write my thoughts to keep them from gravity. I write to replace thoughts with action and to stop the momentum of my ideas that tend to grow legs and run off into crazy directions. Hence, the anxiety, which is why I write to remove the shame or stigma of being nothing else but normal
(if there is such a thing).

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From The Farm: A Thanksgiving Thought

I am thinking now of how it was, a long, long time ago in a different life, a different place and we were young of course. I am thinking about the mountains that were new to me. I am thinking about the farm and the way of life, the early mornings and the barn crews, the cleaning crews, kitchen details and the grogginess, which was me at this time. I was still foggy and still stuck in a strange pattern of thinking.
Nothing made sense to me. Not my life or my charges, the courts or the conditions of my sentence. I was living in a totally different world and almost speaking in a different language. Everything was painfully foreign to me. My choices were unattractive at best. The only other option to the farm was jail for one year, plus 90 days. 

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A Note From A Coach

There are undeniable truths about our life, which we often deny or try to overlook. In fairness, however, truth is always truth. Thoughts are only thoughts. Feelings are only feelings and fears are only fears.
Long ago, it was said to me that perception is not truth. Perception is only true to the one that perceives it is true. To which I say the truth is if someone believes an idea of thought, wholeheartedly and repeatedly, then this becomes their truth.

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No Tension: Just to Write

One of my favorite traditions on Thanksgiving is going around the table and listening to everyone give thanks for what they are grateful for this year.
I loved this part of my family’s tradition. Unfortunately, the years have gone by since then. People moved away and more accurately, people have passed away. The times have changed and this year has changed the face of society. However, it is right that we give thanks. It is right that we look for the details behind our gratitude. So, please, if you will allow me the moment of sappiness, then I will begin.

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The Word For Today Is: Pacifier

As a kid, the most common answer to the question “Why?” was a simple “I don’t know.”
I would always say the same thing.
Why’d you do it?
“I don’t know.”
I would look away with a lost expression on my face. I remember the time I threw a rock that unintentionally hit a car window. I was about seven or maybe eight at the time. I ran away but someone told on me. And sure as hell, I was asked “Why’d you do that?” to which I replied, “I don’t know.”

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