Manic Frustration “If I do not write to empty my mind, I go mad.” ~Lord Byron

New York Post

During my university days, I sat as the news editor of The Keystone, Kutztown University's campus paper, for a semester. Multiple challenges arose. Long hours of layout and editing of articles that seemed to be written by 8th graders took their toll. But those issues were minuscule.

Recently, my new poem, entitled "Passerine", was accepted for publication in the October 2012 issue of Full of Crow Poetry. Full of Crow Poetry is edited by Lynn Alexander who I had the pleasure of receiving a personal correspondence from after submitting. Lynn collects and eclectic mix of poetry from all over the world for Full of Crow Poetry and you can check out the rest of the submissions, as well as mine, at this link: Full of Crow Poetry October 2012

For information about submissions, visit the Full of Crow submission page here.

There's a storm blowin' in. Sometime. At least that's what they say. I'm not particularly worried, though. I've weathered the storms before. All kinds of them. Some of them worse than others. They say this one is a big one. Panic and scrambling people clearing the shelves of milk and eggs. All I grabbed this morning was some coffee and tea.

Lauren Zuniga @ the Vintage Theater

Lauren Zuniga and the Breaking Ground Poets

Richard Mourdock (R) wikipedia.com

“I just struggled with it myself for a long time, but I came to realize: Life is that gift from God that I think even if life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that it is something that God intended to happen." 
~Richard Mourdock (R-Indiana)

After reading this quote from Republican Treasurer of Indiana, Richard Mourdock, and watching the accompanying video of these exact words leaving Mourdock's mouth, I still couldn't believe it. Multiple times I checked the site address to confirm I hadn't stumbled on to The Onion. 

But it shouldn't surprise me. After Todd Akin's (R-Missouri) "legitimate rape" comment where he endowed the human vagina with, apparently, magical powers to differentiate between rape sperm and consensual sperm, I should expect anything from the mouths of politicians.

What really got to me this morning was reading Texas Senator John Cornyn's support of Mourdock and his biblical pandering. Coryn is the chairman of the Senate Republicans.

“Richard and I, along with millions of Americans — including even Joe Donnelly — believe that life is a gift from God. To try and construe his words as anything other than a restatement of that belief is irresponsible and ridiculous. In fact, rather than condemning him for his position, as some in his party have when it’s come to Republicans, I commend Congressman Donnelly for his support of life.”

Many have blasted Mourdock, rightfully, for what he's said and have accused him of suggesting that God ordains rape to bring about life. Mourdock stated in a post-debate interview:

"God creates life, and that was my point. God does not want rape, and by no means was I suggesting that He does. Rape is a horrible thing, and for anyone to twist my words otherwise is absurd and sick.”

This is the problem with inserting personal, religious beliefs into politics. Mourdock says God does not ordain rape, but he ordains the pregnancy that may occur from it? Where does he pull this twisted logic from? It's certainly from somewhere much lower than his mind and lower yet than his heart.

Let's assume Mourdock didn't mean to insinuate that God pre-ordains rape. We're still left with the blatant disregard for women's rights and the interjection of religious beliefs into Mourdock's political intentions. Mourdock has every right to believe whatever spiritual or religious beliefs he wants, but he has no right to impose those beliefs on a country where not every individual, let alone every woman, share them.

And politicians like Cornyn support this kind of backward thinking? Since when? Coryn and the rest of the Republican party threw Akin under the bus for his "legitimate rape" comment earlier in the year but, now, the Senate Republicans are reconsidering their position on even this. Why?

Akin and Mourdock are both candidates in some of the closest election races this year (Akin for the House and Mourdock for the Senate). During one of the most polarized elections the country has ever witnessed, support for these two is bolstered by their party regardless of how absolutely asinine their positions may be. Why are the Republicans backing Mourdock and now rethinking their position on Akin? Because they can't afford to lose. They don't want to lose. And they'll sacrifice anything to gain the seats.

Absurd and sick, Mr. Mourdock? What is absurd and sick are your antique and ridiculous comments. Don't try to spin and pin the shame on Democrats or anyone else for your actions. What you said was loud and clear. Own it. Or, next time, just keep your mouth shut.

And since you'd like to invoke your God's plan, I'd suggest a reread of 1 Corinthians 2:11.

Truly incredible teachers sometimes seem hard to come by. At least for me, they did. I always admired and respected those who broke away from the norm. Those who challenged me. Who made me think. I didn't want to do anything for teachers who seemed like they didn't want to do anything for me. 

The Breaking Ground Poets’ mission is to inspire, foster, and promote artistic expression, personal growth, and social justice for youth in our collective communities through the use of the spoken and written word.

Our goal is to engage young people in workshops, events, and mentorship across Northeast Pennsylvania.

Although we are a new organization, our goal this year is to develop and foster young people’s capacity in creative writing, public speaking, emotional literacy, and civic engagement. We will use the transformative power of storytelling and each individual’s voice to help build a stronger community of teenage writers.

Scranton was in for a storm. An intense one, by all reports. The skies darkened their ugly, menacing grays and blacks. The rain fell at angles in sheets while trees bent against the wind, their leaves flipping up and down flashing shades of dark then light green.

Then, as soon as it began, it was over. There were no tornadoes. No fallen trees. The power hadn't even gone out. Just flickered a few times like a hiccup. The ravaging storm that the weathermen had predicted turned into a temper tantrum. It came close, but fell just a bit short.

Out I ventured. After learning of the planned open mic cancellation, I made my way to the Radisson hotel where author Stephanie Powell Watts was to read for a Pages and Places event. One Jack-and-Coke, a comfortable chair, and a few moments later, Watts took her place at the podium.

Watts read the first in her debut collection of short stories We Are Taking Only What We Need titled "Family Museum of the Ancient Postcards". Despite the chilly room and the minor microphone problems, Watts managed to engage the crowd with a great reading. Afterwards, she spoke a bit about her writing process and the completion of the collection.

Watts takes time to develop her stories and the characters within. She commented, during her reading, that "Family Museum of the Ancient Postcards", a 23-page story, took almost three years to finalize. Her process of writing is slow, by her accounts, and it's reflected within these stories in a good way. There's thought here. There's a carefully crafted image. 

Southern writer. It's a title, as Watts explains, she tries not to think about while writing. It is a title for publishers, librarians, and people like me to use when describing her work. Southern writer is a title that fits, but only superficially. Her writing goes beyond the borders of the Mason-Dixon line.

This debut collection was a PEN Hemingway Award finalist and contains the short "Unassigned Territory" which won the Pushcart Prize. Many of the stories have been featured in well-known short story anthologies. And it's no wonder why.

The stories contained within We Are Taking Only What We Need focus on a rural setting that is most certainly intimately familiar to Watts. Criss-crossing, dusty back roads dotted by houses every few miles. The hardened lives and the people who live them. These stories focus on the lost and found. Not material, but mental and emotional.

Like the storm that threatened Scranton, though, there are a few things that make We Are Taking Only What We Need fall just short of what it could have been. However, I don't believe it's much of Watts's fault as it is poor editing.

Throughout the book there are errors. Glaringly obvious errors that should have never made it past an editor. Anyone who reads knows that an awkward phrase, misspelled word, or errant punctuation can completely pull you from a story. I know it does for me. It's a shame that, because of a lackluster editor, an author's work should suffer, but it does.

I also feel that a truly good editor, or publisher, would have ordered the stories differently. This, I noticed, with the first two shorts. Both began with a character just being released from jail. It's not a bad thing to start multiple stories in a similar fashion or with similar events, but to place them one after the other in such a small collection of shorts becomes detrimental, in my opinion. It can make the writing seem redundant even when it's not the case.

Maybe it's just me, but I seem to be finding slack editing in contemporary publications more and more. Maybe it's a sign of the times. Whatever it is, I hope it stops. I hope editors begin taking their jobs seriously and realizing just how important they are when it comes to a final product.

Despite the editing problems, We Are Taking Only What We Need is an incredible read. Watts writes with beautiful description. I can see the snaking dirt roads and taste the dust. I can feel these characters' emotions. The tension and moments of clarity. Watts has a tendency, in these stories, to bring you from a wide, breathtaking view of your surroundings and focus you in tighter and tighter until the very end where she opens the chest of her characters and lets their entire being pour out.

Pick it up and read it. My hopes, for this particular collection, are for better editing in a second printing. Fix the errors. Order the stories a bit better. But, until then, you'll have to read this version. And it's worth it.

Caravaggio's St. Jerome

There's a space between the words. A brief moment where you breathe. And for a split second, everything is still. Everything is clear. I spend every day trying to capture that moment. To live in it. I haven't been successful just yet.

Sometimes I feel like my words are as light as bird bones. Like they'll slip from between my lips and float off into the sky without ever landing on the ears I wish they would. There have been too many times the words I speak aren't the words you hear.

Other times everything that spills from my mouth is lead-heavy and falls to the pavement below. Just stays there. This might be because I can't look people in the eyes. And that might be because I look away every time things fall apart around me.

Everything has been in some state of disarray for so long, I'm not sure what the words whole and complete really mean. I keep thinking I find the definitions written in dust, but the winds always blow the wrong way. I swear I hear them laugh every time.

All this will sound like the ravings of a lunatic to most. Some will get it. Some will know how it feels to be driving down the highway at 65mph wishing you weren't the only one in the car singing like a madman to your favorite tunes.  Some will know the feeling of an empty bar-stool next to you. How the curves of a bottle are the most familiar.

A friend asked me a few days ago, "Where do you want to be?" I didn't know how to answer. There are places I want to be that I don't think I'll ever see. There are places I want to be that I only get a taste of.

The space between words. That moment where I breathe and everything becomes still. Peaceful. The portion of the Lacrimosa dies illa in Mozart's requiem where that one angelic voice rises above the rest of the chorus as Mozart's last breath rolls forward from the composition. The space between light and dark of Caravaggio's work. That's where I want to be.

By Jim Prisching, AP

"The most saddening finding by the Special Investigative Counsel is the total and consistent disregard by the most senior leaders at Penn State for the safety and welfare of Sandusky's child victims...Four of the most powerful people at The Pennsylvania State University -- President Graham B. Spanier, Senior Vice President-Finance and Business Gary C. Schultz, Athletic Director Timothy M. Curley and Head Football Coach Joseph V. Paterno -- failed to protect against a child sexual predator harming children for over a decade." (Freeh 14)

These are some of the opening lines of the 267-page Freeh report that outlines the history and magnitude of the child abuse perpetrated by Jerry Sandusky at Penn State. Abuse that was, as the report outlines in incredible detail, enabled by the inaction of university leaders in an effort to keep the face of Penn State clean.

I read the report. Every detail. With every page, my stomach tied into knots. (download it here)

There's no justification for it. Any of it. Paterno, Spanier, Schultz, and Curly are, in my opinion, just as responsible for the ruined lives of the victims as Sandusky. While none of these men perpetrated the physical crimes, they did nothing to stop them either. They chose, instead, to bury the actions of Sandusky to avoid tarnishing the reputation of Penn State and the PSU football program. And they denied it. No longer. The Freeh report has exposed their true colors.
Yet some people continue to support Joe Paterno and his football empire. Why? Why should any of these other men avoid blame for what they've done? True, Paterno has since passed away, but that doesn't negate his utter incompetence concerning the abuse and how Sandusky was, or wasn't, dealt with.

It is this blind praise that borders on worship which allowed these abuses to happen in the first place. Paterno was not, and never will be, an untouchable god. He was a football coach and he is responsible, along with Spanier, Schultz, and Curly, for allowing a sexual predator to continue abusing children on campus grounds for over a decade, as the report outlines.

How can anyone review the evidence, see the lives ruined and devastated by these crimes, and then say, "Well, yeah. But he did a lot of good for the university," or, "But he was one of the greatest coaches that ever lived."

It doesn't matter. His good deeds do not change the fact that children's lives were ruined. That he, along with other high members of the PSU regime, turned a blind eye to a child molester to avoid bad publicity. The rights and well being of children took a back seat to everything else.

Is this what we've come to? Elevating sports above morality and child safety? Why do we grant individuals, like Paterno or Sandusky, an "untouchable" status?

Let's look at it this way.

Mr. X is a man of somewhat high standing in a community. He's not the most well known or important figure in the community, but people know him. He does, however, work alongside the community's most respected and adored figure, Mr. Y.

Years ago, Mr. Y had planned and set up funds to create a recreational park for the community. Mr. X, to gain notoriety and good standing with the community, has decided he wants to fund a playground for children in a section of the park. He does this under the good graces and support of Mr. Y.

Now, being the man of importance he is, Mr. Y has an assistant. One night, while walking through the park and checking on the general goings-on, Mr. Y's assistant observes Mr. X molesting a child in the new playground. No one else is around. The assistant is the only one to see this.

Immediately, the assistant goes to Mr. Y to report what he's seen. Although Mr. Y shows concern, he is worried about the possibility that any media coverage of the incident may not only make his park look unsafe, but it may make him look bad as well. Instead of alerting the proper authorities, Mr. Y decides to have a talk with Mr. X about the situation.

After the talk with Mr. X, Mr. Y puts the incident behind him and assures his assistant that everything has been taken care of. But it hasn't. Mr. X continues to molest children at the park. He continues for years. Mr. Y hears rumors. He knows it's happened before, but he does little to nothing to stop it or alert the proper authorities.

Now, ask yourself this. Is Mr. Y guilty of any wrong-doing, or does his standing in the community and what he's done for it purge him of any fault? Although he didn't commit the actual crime, doesn't he have a moral obligation to do anything possible within the law to prevent it? Should his concerns be about the children or his public image?

Spanier, Schultz, and Curly deserve nothing from PSU. They, along with coach Paterno, let their community, the institution, the students, and, most importantly, the victims of Sandusky's crimes down. They allowed a sexual predator to roam free amongst them. They deserve no pity. They deserve no leniency. They are, for all intensive purposes, as responsible for these crimes as Sandusky.

As Sandusky sits in a cell awaiting the inevitable 300+ year sentence, he's thinking. He's retracing every event and every memory. At one time during a meeting with one of the victim's mother, Sandusky commented that he, "wished he were dead." I can only imagine that wish burning a hole right through him at this moment.

But while Sandusky is sitting in a cell pondering the expansive amount of time he'll be locked away and the almost certain notion that he'll die enclosed withing cinder block walls, we should all be thinking, too. We should be examining this incident and those like it perpetrated through the Church and other organizations.

Children's rights and safety should never be pushed to the wayside. And we as a society have a moral obligation to obliterate any possibilities of that happening. We must not grant any individual leniency because of their position or standing in a community.

Work days have been slow. Excruciatingly so. I've found myself reading random snippets of news. Searching unknown poets. Researching odd topics. Today, I found myself reading children's stories from an old book on Google books.

I've never got into "creating" found poetry. To me, found poetry just seems to be the art of extreme editing rather than writing. Chopping away every ounce of fat from the words of previous writers to boil down the story into a pure, concise form. For this, though, it seems useful. One thing I've always had trouble with, and I'm sure most writers do, is knowing when to cut the fat from your work. Our words are our children and butchering them is never easy.

Below are a few "found" poems from the day's boredom.

As some of you may know, especially if you keep up with this blog or are acquainted with me personally, you know that I dabble in photography. I've displayed in a few galleries and have had some people ask me about prints for sale. Well, now is the time and the chance for that.

I'm going to start offering a different print every so often. These prints will be limited in numbers and once they have sold out, they will not be offered again. Ever. The only way you'd get to see one if you don't buy one is to come view my copy hanging on the wall. Prints will be signed, numbered, and shipped by me personally. They will come printed on quality photo paper and shipped with care.

The first print I'm going to offer is one that many people have loved when they see it called "Alley at Night". This photo was taken during a quick trip to Tunkhannock, PA for the purpose of catching a sunset over the Susquehanna river valley. When that didn't work out, I began wandering around town.

I came to one of the more interesting buildings in town, the Dietrich Theater. I began snapping shots of the theater as the sun set and the neon began glowing. As I began to walk away, I noticed the alley right next to the Dietrich. At any other time during the day, the alley would be a boring, normal alley. But, in the new darkness of the evening, the exit lamp above the door at the end of the alley breathed life into the bricks. The color was perfect and the shot was too good to pass up.

"Alley at Night" © Dale Wilsey Jr. (Click for larger image)

There's been an absence of words here, but they're spilling out all over my desk. The floor. Pages and scraps of paper. I've begun work on a poetry manuscript. I've been revising old work and starting new. The season is new. The weather is new. My energy and mind are refreshed.

Busy days. Incredible nights. Weekends are always full of something. This weekend, Prose in Pubs swings back around to Jack's Draft House in Scranton on Sunday. Open mic. The first time it has gone non-invitation. It should be an interesting lineup. I'll be reading some new work. Stop on by.


The manuscript is coming along slowly but surely. It will be some time before I have a rough draft completed and probably some time after that until it is finalized and ready to send out. Then I'll find out that it is not yet finalized. Edit, submit, edit, submit. These are the hurdles of writing.

I've picked up my guitar again. Bought a glass slide to try and mimic Bukka White. It's coming along even slower than the manuscript, but it's a release of energy and creativity. It's needed when I cannot form the words. What better way to clear the mind by making music. Or noise. Sometimes I just like to strum and croon along with the old blues masters.

I've been tumbling some ideas for blog entries around my mind, so bare with me. Be patient. Not that you've been sitting on the edge of your seat waiting in anticipation for me. Maybe you have. I'd like to think you have.

Time to fill the apartment with music and the scent of whatever I feel like cooking. Until next time...

In early May, president Obama publicly voiced his support of gay marriage and the rights of gay Americans. This has obviously been met with backlash from the (religious) Right and supporters of the Defense of Marriage Act, which attempts to define marriage as that between a man and a woman and deny rights to gay couples under the guise of preserving the "sanctity of marriage".

...No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

Rest assured there will be those who point fingers and scream about the president and any politician who support gay rights and marriage trampling on the Constitution without actually acknowledging what is written within the document. (Hint: The constitution does not define "marriage" as between a man and a woman.)

Most of those fingers will be pointed from behind the pulpit and screamed between recitations of Leviticus 20:13 and various other Bible verses. This is not an attack on the religious but, I challenge you to prove me wrong, what other reasons are there to deny gay rights and marriage besides those of the religious Right? There are no reasons based in law or constitutionality that should prohibit this country from providing equal rights to the GLTB community.

Every argument spewed forth by supporters of DOMA and "traditional" marriage has been nothing but bunk and hysteria. From Bristol Palin's ironic assertion that "we know that in general kids do better growing up in a mother/father home. Ideally, fathers help shape their kids’ worldview," (source) to the incredibly moronic and baseless argument that interspecies marriages would result from granting gays the right to marry.



There is no logical reason to continue to deny a portion of our citizens their rights. The suppression of gay rights and marriage is nothing more than blatant, unconstitutional discrimination perpetuated by the religious lobby, alarmists, and extremists.

It's time the "pick and choose" view of right and wrong be exposed for what it really is. If the Right wants to point toward the constitution to uphold their rights to bear arms, then they must also point to the 14th amendment to guarantee the rights of all citizens. And, if the religious portion of this nation wants to point toward Leviticus to deny gay citizens their rights, then they must also point to Mark 10:9, Matthew 19:9, and any other verses pertaining to divorce and the "sanctity" of marriage.

If we are to truly honor the Constitution and what the founders of this nation set forth to grant its peoples, we mustn't deny any rights to any citizen. We cannot allow our laws to be filtered through a biblical sieve. We must remember the Declaration of Independence and its resounding call for the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That statement has, and will continue to be, the basis of this country's true greatness. However some may try to mar and tarnish it, we must continue to uphold that one perfect and pure idea.

We are all human. And as such, we are all entitled to happiness, love, and life. To deny anyone these rights is, truly, un-American. Who's really trampling the Constitution, then?

I'll leave you with an incredible performance from Andrea Gibson, poet and activist:

Copyright Diana Markosian (source)

The jack-hammering tones of an air gun rattle through the shop just outside my office. Buddy Guy's licks flow from my computer speakers like a fine scotch. I've got a truckload of thoughts rolling down endless expanses of highway carved through my mind. Outside, it's a chilly, wet April day. Smoke-colored skies.

This morning, I woke up and sat down in front of the typer for the first time in what seems like years. The early hours, following what little sleep I seem to find these days, have become a window of inspiration. Words drip onto the page mimicking the coffee pot steaming in the kitchen. Eventually, the page and my cup are full.

I spend a brief time on our second-floor balcony most mornings. Every time I open the door to step out, I'm reminded of the need of a good chair to lounge in and soak up the morning sun while I let my thoughts pour out.

The itch. The need to write has embedded itself within me again. It's not that I was worried about losing it. It seems as though any writer finds themselves less than inspired from time to time. Or maybe we let our thoughts brew like moonshine through a still until they're pure. Whatever the case, the cask is full again.

Soon, I'll spend time wandering through the park in the fading light of dusk. These late-night work hours are coming to an end. I've got more important things to have running through my mind than the constant rattles and blasts of air tools and belching engine brakes.

One thought in particular has been filling me with warmth and peace. Every morning on the balcony, I can still picture her standing beneath the light leaning against the door. Smoke curling from between her lips. The soft look in her eyes and the elegant curve of her smile.

It's a photograph etched in my memory. One that I'm hoping is a glimpse of what lies ahead.

Tonight, I'll turn the key to my tiny pickup and drive forty-five minutes down the line. Step through the door of my apartment, wash the work day away, and find a few moments of relaxation before falling into a dream world.

In the morning, I'll write again.

The ignorance of some individuals astounds me. Einstein once said that, "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." I tend to agree with his brash assessment of humanity, for the most part. It's easy to when there are rather shining examples of stupidity all around us today.

Whether it's always been like this, and only recently have we begun to thrust these morons into the spotlight and give them undeserved recognition, or if we are, as a nation, falling backwards in mental evolution is a question for another time.

What has sparked this sudden burst of misanthropic ranting is a letter to the editor of The Times Leader which has called for the repeal of Civil Rights. The writer of this brilliantly moronic letter, one Sean M. Donahue, contends that all crime in Luzerne county stems from "Hispanic migrants from Central and Latin America". He then goes on to propose a solution to the crime problem:

Writer: Repeal civil rights laws

Too many elected officials are too afraid to speak the truth. The people who brought crime to this area are Hispanic migrants from Central and Latin America. The only way to get rid of crime is to get rid of them.

Democracy allows us the use of peaceful means to repeal the civil rights acts so that we can do just that. Instead of talking about it quietly, please sign an application for a petition for initiative to have the revocation of civil rights laws put on the Luzerne County agenda and eventually on a statewide referendum.

....but getting the revocation of civil rights on a statewide referendum will send a necessary and powerful message to both Harrisburg and Washington. 

He then goes on to make a rather appalling presumption:

The population of Hazleton and the Hispanic population cannot meld into one population. I am tired of hearing politicians and loudmouth business leaders say such garbage.

Sean M. Donahue

Hazleton
(Full Text)

It's incredible the level of absolute brainlessness that some individuals feel comfortable in displaying. First off, let me point out something rather perplexing about Mr. Donahue's idea. He says, "Instead of talking about it quietly, please sign an application for a petition...". Mr. Donahue, how much more quiet can you get than signing a slip of paper? You're not talking about anything at all, let alone talking quietly.

Community problems demand community discourse. And it stands to reason, by Mr. Donahue's blatant disregard for upstanding Hispanic members of his community, that he would not have them participate in such discourse. What better way to usher through his ridiculous ideas than to pass around an application to like-minded friends while keeping it on the hush hush.

What further boggles my mind is Mr. Donahue's assumption that repealing Civil Rights laws, ignoring all of the terrible repercussions this would have, could be the only solution to crime in his community. What, if anything, could this possibly accomplish toward his goals of making the community safer? Or, is public safety and crime rate simply the facade to something more basic. Namely, Mr. Donahue's contempt for the Hispanic community.

He contends that the Hispanic population and the Hazleton population cannot meld into one population? As if the two were separate. Mr. Donahue's rhetoric and segregational speech hearkens to the days of lynch mobs and "Paddy" wagons. What more can we expect from someone actively seeking to repeal Civil Rights laws. Shall we throw the Black population under the bus as well, Mr. Donahue? Care for a bit of anti-Semitism?

Only one simple fact needs to be stated here: What this country suffers from is ignorant individuals who seek to "solve" problems with quick-fix schemes without using an ounce of brainpower. It suffers from veiled prejudices, as it always has, and the beat of extremist war drums. Understanding, education, and thought are trampled on as though they are the gravest of sins. We heap attention onto the screaming, brainless mobs and ignore those with true ideas and wisdom.

Mr. Donahue, I urge you to pull your head out of your ass and re-examine your thought process. For the problem you wish to solve is not that of crime but that of multi-culturalism. Yes, there is crime perpetrated by Hispanic individuals within Luzerne county. There are also crimes perpetrated by African Americans, Asians, and your fellow vanilla-white man. Repealing Civil Rights is not the answer and neither are completely baseless, moronic ideas of segregation bolstered by prejudices like you yourself have outlined.

For every Hispanic who has committed a crime within Luzerne county and North East Pennsylvania, there are dozens more who have not. And I can safely say that without one ounce of actual research into crime statistics and population density with Hazleton or its surrounding areas.

For your own sake, Mr. Donahue, and the sake of good, intelligent citizens within the Commonwealth, I ask you to refrain from opening your mouth until you've formed an intelligent idea. This, I'm sure, will guarantee your silence for some time.

It's incredible how things can fall into place. How, from a seemingly chaotic existence, life unfolds and sets the pieces together. The picture takes form right before your eyes. There are still points to my life that create stress and worry but, as a whole, I'm feeling good. I can finally see the semblance of the picture. The pieces are being set into place.



It's been two months since I've moved to Scranton. I read more. Spend more time with incredible friends. Lose myself in hidden nooks of Nay Aug park. And, finally, inspiration is seeping back into my life. Words once lost have begun to take shape. Spill onto the pages.

The warming days and blazing, brilliant sunsets bring a change too great not to mention. Thoughts are deeper. Increasingly clear. It almost makes the worry of living paycheck to paycheck melt away.


There's renewed happiness in my life. A connection and peace that I believed to be forever broken is being restored. I've actually caught myself smiling more than I've been feeling burdened. Some questions are yet to be answered, but exploring them has become enjoyable.

I know what I want. And I've taken steps to acquire it without hesitation. We've only one chance to make our lives what we want. Many wait for the doors to open and show them the way.

Don't wait.

They never open on their own.