The Smell Of It

I once told you that sound is something that gives depth to our memory. Even the tiny memories from our youngest mind can be triggered by the sound of something familiar.
For example, I was too young to remember much, but my Grandmother had a bungalow somewhere upstate when I was very small.
I have tiny pictures of this in my head that I can only link to little fragments of memory, —but if ever I hear a small single engine airplane flying in the sky, somehow, I go back to this memory I have from that time in a large field with tall grass, the grass almost golden tan in color, topped with thistles, and half-bent and moving in the direction of the wind.
I associate this with the sound and feels of summer.
I associate this with warmth and although most of the details from that time are only fragments—the sound from a small plane reminds me of then. And I’m not sure why. I’m not sure what the significance is. I suppose this is what I heard at the time. I suppose that without the sound, this memory would only be two-dimensional. But add sound and the memory has a third dimension.

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If for no other reason, do it for yourself.
If for no other reason, stand up now while there’s time to make a change. Take a step forward.
Do it now before the excuses come.

Think about this . . .
If there was a way you could start your entire life over, what would be the first thing you would do?
What would you get rid of?
What would you keep and what would you leave exactly as it is?

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My Last Dance With Handcuffs

It was only a few minutes after they sat me down on a hard wooden bench when the realization set in. This was me. I was back in a place I never wanted to revisit.
I was handcuffed to a metal pie which ran beneath the bench and sat between two different types of drunks. To my right was a tall, thin, and lanky black man, feminine as could be and drunk, and complaining on a frequent basis that his handcuffs were on too tight. To my left was another man, heavyset and equally feminine, often echoing his co-defendants plea about his handcuffs being too tight. I was between them and when a brief pause of silence came to the scene, I quickly became aware of what I had done.

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A letter

Dear son,
Although we never really spoke or met the way people usually meet or speak, and though you are not real or better yet, although you are me, or more accurately, you are the young me, you are the unresolved me and the emotions which revolve within me, I am writing this to relieve you of some things, which you gripped too tightly and held for too long.

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Note To This Thing Of Mine

The way to achieve is to work towards your goal. And this won’t always be easy. You have to step in all the way. Day in and day out, you train each day to be better.This is how you learn to overcome obstacles. Nothing of true value comes easy. Not at all, in fact, real dreams take effort; they take time and dedication as well as pain and sweat.

I was sitting in a break room the first time I learned that one of my stories was about to be published. I was several hours deep into my midweek grind, tired and dirty, and making my way through my blue collar life. I made a choice to dedicate a special moment each day and every day to this thing I call my art. And every day, I would sit and write about one thing or another. I would never write about the same thing twice because as an exercise, I made sure to switch my topics, which was challenging at times because the mind is naturally swayed by compliments. Therefore, I had to remove myself from the comment section and the messages I received on my blog.

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