No Facebook for Me!


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What a distraction. A bubble. A waste of time. A source of social neglect. I spent way too much time on Facebook over the last two years. I made some friends that I never met and ruined a friendship or two with people I actually knew. It was good to follow the news. It was good until I read the comments of bozos and I foolishly engaged them in circular arguments. I spent hours playing a game with dragons? Why in the cuss did I ever get into that? I should have been talking to people in my area and creating real friendships. I should have been working out and cooking healthy food. I should have read a hundred books. I should have written on this blog and written my congressman. I should have hiked a thousand miles. I should have found a woman to be with. A woman who wasn’t obsessed with Facebook and handsome guys. I know I’m not supposed to regret and everything happens for a reason. All the bad things build character and help us grow stronger. Facebook made me weak and forgetful and unappreciative of what I have and who I am. I flirted with girls I’d never meet. I trolled racists whose minds I couldn’t change. I fed my anger and envy and depression as I scrolled and scrolled through pages of statuses I had nothing to do with. I laughed at some and learned a few things but mostly I judged. I in no way became a better stronger person or made the world a better place through Facebook. The only people I touched in a positive way already shared my views. Now I know. I can start back again and build my brain into a healthy muscle. I’m going to read more books and go on more hikes and go out and meet more people. I want to listen to people’s voices while we have drinks. I want to meet women and look into their eyes. No more Facebook for me!

My Madness


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My madness is mine to own. I nurture it and feed it and do nothing to push it away. I own it but I didn’t plant the seed for it. I dont cause the actions and words I use to feed it. I’m not owning this culture or this society or this nation or this history. The acts of love and hate aren’t mine. I wont own Mathew Shephard or Sandy Hook. I wont own Rosa Parks or a women’s march. I’m alone and seperate in this. I’m taking it in as fuel for a madness that makes me want to tear the heads off fascists and hug their victims. My madness is mine. My madness is my shield. My madness is my weapon. My madness is my inner conflict. My madness is seven billion people stepping over each other for life. My madness is in Harper Lee and The Clash and Rogue One. My madness is understanding your needs and your lies and your journey. My madness is mine as it overwhelms its self. There is so control or freedom. There is just everything flowing into eachother as it spins into a growing universe. That is my madness. It is all mine. My madness.

I am a ghost: a poem


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I am a ghost.

what is a ghost?

I am a ghost!

I make noise yet you can’t see me.

I am a ghost.

You know I exist and yet I’m never there to be heard.

I am a ghost.

You can’t hug me or look me in the eye and shake my hand.

I am a ghost.

I leave behind pictures and writings so you think you know me.

I am a ghost.

I am just a fading memory of somebody you used to know.

I am a ghost.

I wonder alone. I walk alone. I eat alone. I haunt the night alone.

I am a ghost

I wonder into rooms quiet and unnoticed and leave a stranger unknown to all.

I am a ghost

What is a ghost?

I am a ghost. I am your ghost. I am times ghost. I am memories ghost.

I am a ghost.

Cant sleep wrote a poem.


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Over the ringing in my ears I hear the gears grind in this cheap red clock. Ticking away the night and every second of rest and peace my mind craves. Ticking through my thoughts of things never said and should have and things said that shouldn’t have been. The heavy weight of darknes and time and the unknown tomorrow all being spoken by a thing framed in thin red plastic. It stirs feelings and thoughts from a black swamp better left still and forgotten. Regrets with friends and lovers and opportunities all ticking away in a tick tick tick like an evil spell. This cheap red clock on a sheet rock wall covered in mismatched paint. Made by a stranger or assembled by automation in a far away land. Manufactured somehow in negativity and holding it all the way to this night. To tick away a guys sleepless anxious night as his ears ring and his mind goes through the dark stories of his life. Grinding and ticking and tocking without malice but billgerent all the same. This damned cheap red clock.

My thoughts on the LGBT and CIS labels and rights and acceptance.


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Until a few years ago I had no idea what transgender was or that it was even a thing. Growing up I just never heard the word, but once I did and knew what it meant I was completely okay with it. I was okay with it because it in no way hurts me or anyone else if a person was unfortunate enough to be born in a body they don’t identify with. If you can, try to imagine the confusion and conflict a person must feel growing up feeling like a woman in a man’s body or vice versa. Life is hard enough when everyone thinks of you as normal. To have this identity crisis as a kid and live amongst a culture that looks down on it and even hates it must be terrifying. People need to get over themselves and just try be nice to anyone having struggles they themselves don’t understand.

The only thing I don’t like about any of the LGBT or cis dialogue is that we have to have labels at all. I don’t want a label. There isn’t any one word that you can put on me to even start explaining who I am. Who I want to have sex with in no way defines me. My body in no way defines me. My actions and thoughts are always evolving and growing with my newly acquired knowledge. My past has made me who I am today but it doesn’t define me and shouldn’t have any label put on it. I’m just a human being trying to navigate through all the crap everyone else seems to be making up to complicate and divide us.

I would quite honestly just like to disappear into some endless forest to never be seen again. I was born into a century I don’t identify with though and therefore I feel like I must try to get along with people. I do like people but as a species we make these insane choices to hate and fear and oppress others that are different. It is a choice me make every time we meet somebody unlike us. I’m just a poor broken down socialist living in my grandmas old room and with all my problems why would I choose to hate somebody for being transgender? Why? What purpose would it serve to hate some dude for finding me attractive? I don’t choose to be offended or flattered or anything because it doesn’t matter to me and he can’t help it. I like a wide variety of women. My tastes vary quite a lot. That has offended people knowing that. They felt hurt that they weren’t my type. They weren’t happy that I was just into them no matter what and that to me is just a silly thing. I’m just wired in a way that makes me more comfortable with a person’s personality and not their hair color or eye color.

People need to be this way with everyone up until the point of who you decide you’re going to have consensual sex with. Outside of the bedroom or wherever you have sex, who we have sex with in no way defines us. I’ve been judged by so called friends and even family for shit they really knew nothing about and was none of their business anyway. I’m a straight single male on the “normal” side of things and I get judged. I can’t imagine what a young gay man  must go through. It’s a very brave thing coming out of the closet to a world full of mean spirited assholes.

All we should be doing for people is doing everything we can to make life easier for them. Build unisex bathrooms and educate people and be kind and listen. Is it really that crazy to just be nice and make the choice to be cool about things you can’t relate to? Think it over a bit.

Deep in the Suburbs and Isolated: a poem


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Isolation used to be sought. Hours spent driving to the country for peace and quiet.

Now it`s dreaded in a metropolis of over a million. Divided by highways and miles of surrounding parking lots and the distraction of television and social media.

It’s an isolation of sensory overload without any real quiet. The local woods echo the traffic. The constant slamming of car doors and mysterious hums and sirens block any real thoughts or insight.

Deep in the suburbs surrounded by a world speeding by, we’re isolated but not alone.

In a tiny backyard lit by neighbors porch lights and dimming streetlights only a few stars shine. The wind gusting between homes prevents us sitting by the store bought fire pit. Rules and regulations take away the dancing of the flames that draw us out of ourselves and into a deeper space in the winter night sky.

It’s nothing like the solitude of a forest or prairie that brings peace to the soul as you listen to mother nature breath around you.

Deep in the suburbs you’re walled in by prefabricated oil based capitalism and roads littered with raccoons and Opossums and deer and coyotes fallen victim to its poison.

Isolated and always plugged in, feeling the warmth of technology against your legs.

Isolated by the unspoken community bedtime of 10 p.m.

Isolated by the yard signs declaring this to be a christian white nationalist town.

Isolated by the headphones and averted eyes as strangers pass.

Isolated by the garage door openers and living room theaters and lack of porches.

Isolated by texting and snapchatting and expression through memes.

Deep in the suburbs longing for a campfire under a cotton wood and listening to its branches squeak as I wonder if they’ll snap and end me. Just looking up at the sky and feeling the warmth of a fire on my knees and the winter chill on my back.

Deep in the suburbs I’m surrounded by people with unfriendly faces and electric lights and the cold wind unheeded by parking lots. Isolated and all alone in a transformed Missouri wilderness.

Deep in the suburbs and isolated.




Protest in Despair and Hope


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On inauguration day 2017, Donald Trump’s presidency is being protested by tens of thousands of America’s diverse people across the country. Protesters are sad and angry and fearful. The protesters cause is unique to each individual as they march united against a president and the culture of hate and intolerance he represents. The protests are about lgbt rights and the environment and black lives matter and women’s health and freedom of speech and so many other causes.

 Each person on these marches and at these rallies have their own ideas and fears about the actions the new government might take against these causes.

I have attended three protests since the election and have seen people full of despair and fear and looking for solidarity in a like minded group. I have seen people full of love and hope who see this election as a sign to love more and speak out and fight for those they see threatened. One thing everybody brings is their voice in solidarity for all people.

Some people chant, braver ones give speeches, others carry signs, and many just lend their presence to show support quietly. They are all united in their beliefs of equality in that America is and should remain a safe place for all its unique people. Despair or hope aside that must remain a core principle.

This election and its results have filled me with sadness and anger and confusion. I’ve written about it and protested and most of the time I feel hopeless about my efforts. I know congress will ignore the will of the people like it did after Sandy Hook and Donald Trump will tweet about us being paid sad losers. I’m sad for all the people who feel afraid because conservatives look at them as lesser than. I’m angry that so many racists and bigots and bullies feel empowered to openly hurt people. I’m confused how such a relatable slogan as “black lives matter” is demonized and sexual assault has been normalized.


I also see hope and love in the protesters and that inspires me to be as positive as I can. I see young men and women march topless on a chilly January day to add more power to their voice. I see people who had protested in the 60’s and are still fighting for whats right. I see openly gay and transgender people defying hatred and telling their stories to the public. I see all these races and ethnic people walking together in support of one another.

I see local law enforcement lining the streets and smiling as peaceful protesters march by and give thank youse. You see all these different people marching together from all walks of life in an effort to support each other and you feel hope for the future. Its sad and it hurts knowing things will get tough for many Americans over the next four years. At the same time you have to fight for them anyway you can. You can’t stand by and watch and be silent. Give hope and empower others by speaking out and letting them know they’re not alone.

This country has long been a beacon of freedom to the world. We make horrible mistakes as American citizens and yet that reputation stands. Through slavery and internment camps and Jim Crow we fight and fight until justice is restored at any cost. Women fought to vote. Japanese citizens defied prejudice and fought fascism in Italy. Black people marched for civil rights and gays marched for pride. The American people fight for their and others freedom. None of us march alone in despair or hope. We are the collective good on the right side of history. Through this sadness we will unite and fight the next battle together. I’m not alone in this and neither are you! March on!