And Oh, About That Thing – Introduction

I am someone who has lived what I could call a normal, everyday, and unusual life. Therefore, what I have seen, heard, lived through, and all that I have experienced is unique and subjective to me.
I know this.
I have my own way and my own style, or like anyone else in this world, I have my own voice and methods of delivery, and the same as you have your view, I have my own views too.
None of this makes me right or better nor does this make me less than or less worldly. No, I am who I am and, in all fairness, it has taken more than five decades, which is a long time, for me to get to where I am now,

I see what I see and, at the same time, my aim is to offer what I see, think, feel or touch in a way that you can feel, touch, see or experience the same through my eyes or from my point of view.
I offer this because in a world where all is too easily offended or insulted, and in a world of all to many differences and opinions, the truth of the matter is we all have our own things.
We all have a story. Or like my friend, Dangerous Dan the Marathon Man, used to tell me, “Some are sicker than others.” Then Dangerous Dan would point at me and say, “But you kid, you are definitely one of the some.”

I do think the world is far more relatable than it seems. However, there are differences, and whether we have differences that are cultural, generational, or spiritual, religious, or otherwise; there is still a core to each of us. There is still a heart and a soul, and a presence of motivation, and of course, we all have our own response to sources of inspiration.

Do I want to inspire?
Maybe.
Or maybe I just want to share and let my words paint a picture, or send a smile, or cause a ripple of emotion that allows someone to imagine or feel something that they have never felt before.

I cannot say that I know what your home smelled like on a Sunday afternoon around dinner time. I don’t know what the smell of honeysuckles mean to you, nor do I know if you’ve ever seen or experienced the sight and smell from a honeysuckle bush.
I don’t know if you’ve ever marched in a parade, nor do I know what growing up in a different town looks like.

There are items in our life, like food or music, or movies, or the television shows we grew up with or the hairstyles from our youth, or the clothes we wore, and all of the items I have just mentioned can lead us back to the beauty of nostalgia or, as well, items like this can lead us back to times or special moments and memories that changed the way we see things.
In fact, there are songs that can come on the radio, randomly, and I think as though I am in a time warp, and in my head, there I am, back to a person, place, or thing that impacted or changed my life.

Lastly, there was an agent who spoke with me when I began this idea to become a writer. In fairness, he was mean-spirited on a good day.
I do not believe he would have spoke to me the same if I was in his office or standing in front of him.
He was brutal and brutally honest and, in my case, he tore me apart over the phone and in no uncertain terms, he told me never to quit my day job and that there was no way that I would ever make it in this business.

There are no other words for him, other than he was a dick!
But, he was an honest dick.

I shake my head as I write this because I am still working at my day job. I still struggle to make a fair penny or a cent as a writer.
I have been torn apart by critics, grammar Nazis, or the educational snobs.
I have heard my share from the bourgeois, and I have been put down by the pretentious, or the uptight assholes who never dared to share their version of art with anyone.
And more, I have been brutalized by people in this world who never create, or who never tried, or of course, I have been judged on my losses by people who never stepped up to the plate, or who took a swing to see if they could hit the ball out of the park. But more, I have been commented on by people who neve let their soul be exposed or bleed out loud and openly, in plain sight.

One of the suggestions I was told is to write what I know about.
Then, I had to ask myself, “what do I know?”
What does anybody know?
I was told to find my trick and stick with it until I can pull this off.
Yo pull this off means I would have to pull my trick, flawlessly, or perfectly; but at the same time, this art is not perfect.

I am in search of my voice, and seeking a path that is based on the freedom of expression, or with hopes to become an artist, or a writer, I understand that life and art are neither perfect, nor fair.
Neither are the critics.
At the same time, I say that even ugly things can be beautiful. I say that even pretty lies are still ugly as sin.
I say the fact is that we all have scars and imperfections. I say that we all have wrinkles, birthmarks, scars, or so-called blemishes. Yet, to me or as someone who owns the eyes of interest when it comes to you, I do not see imperfection.
No, I see them as flawless.
I see you as a unique and perfect beauty that is enough to make me smile and forget the indecencies of others and their otherwise pretentious life.

I am opening this new journal with a hope and, of course, a goal to share my experiences, tastes, and my rises and falls. While I understand that this is subjective to me, my hope is that I can make this relatable to you.
And oh, about that thing . . . or that time, or that thing I did when I was younger or crazier, or about that thing that happened and changed my life, or changed my perspective, I’m going to leave this here for you.

Just so you know that no matter what our past was like, nothing was ever in vain.