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

Along with the new look of this place, I've added some separate pages with contact info, any readings that I may be part of and a bit about myself and the town in which I've grown up in and currently live. It's a lazy Saturday afternoon and my internet connection is being rather uncooperative, so I've decided to step away from the computer for a while now that I've accomplished what I set out to do today on this machine. Safe journeys and good times to you all this weekend.

~Cheers

Magic Hat "Encore" for those of you curious.

If only this were my home.

The old look was growing stale. It was time to freshen up the place a bit. New year, new writing, new things to look at. Maybe it will make me come back here more often to give the few who read this something more to actually read.

Speaking of reading, today I read an article in USA Today about the future of independent and small bookstores in an age where print seems to be slowly creeping towards extinction. It's something I've thought about ever since interning with a newspaper and seeing staff drop like flies as it (as well as the smaller, surrounding papers in the area) was bought up by a larger company.

Personally, I haven't thought much of e-readers or digital books since their appearance. I've always liked having an actual book in my hand. Feeling the cover, the pages and smelling the pulp. That satisfying feeling you get when you open a new book for the first time. You don't get that warm feeling with sterile, cold electronics. Even with newspapers, I prefer to have the actual paper in my hands despite the ink rubbing off.

But, maybe I'm just old enough to be on the cusp of that generational gap. I remember the time before the internet. It's true. We even went outside to play, as children. The old ways still appeal to me and hold a certain connection. I still listen to records and use a typewriter. Then again, I have an mp3 player and I'm writing this on a PC for the internet.

Regardless of the growing popularity of digital books, print will never die out completely. When discussing this thought with friends, one mentioned that if digital music didn't kill the recording industry and CDs, then e-readers will not kill print. He has a very valid point. There will always be people like me who enjoy stacking their shelves full of books. Or, at least there will be until I'm six feet under. And no one is going to burn the books that are here...unless Bradbury was on to something.

So, let the people have their e-readers and their mega-bookstores filled with obnoxiously loud coffee grinders and Twilight posters. I'll just sit back and enjoy cracking open one of the many books sitting on my shelf. Or, browsing through the nook of used and antique books at my local antique shop. At least I won't have to worry about the text being garbled upon opening the book. Unless the editor was asleep...then there could be some problems.

..

This Packard has been sitting silently all winter long in the driveway and smiling the whole time. Bearing the chill and the cold of the outdoors in serene patience. I stopped to look at it today before hustling indoors to my typer and a beer.

Yes, I still use a typewriter. It carries me away from the plugged-in and tuned-out, fast-paced world of technology to a simpler time. A time when getting from point A to point B was enjoyable and not a deadline. Are we there yet? Who cares. Enjoy the scenery. It may be slower, but the typer is a lot easier on the eyes and music to my ears compared to the sterile hum of the computer.

Back to the clacking of keys and scribblings of my pen.

..

During the day, the ice drips from the overhang outside of my door at work. The gutter is useless as the ice creeps over it no matter how many times I knock it away. It says, "You can't keep me from weeping," with its out-of-sync drip-dropping. I've stopped knocking it down, now. At night, the icicles turn to freezing sleep.

Austin, TX

Everything seems covered in a blanket of ice from here to Texas. My bones feel frozen and as stiff as those horses. These are slow, crawling days. Like glaciers creeping along valleys through time.

It's a wonder how any of us make it through the winter without going absolutely stir-crazy. Without succumbing to the blankets of ice ourselves.


I wouldn't mind the snow so much. Those beautiful nights when everything is still and large flakes fall from the sky like feathers. An ethereal pillow fight. It's the bitter cold. The ice. The driving and biting winds I can't stand. Stepping outside my door is a challenge.

When I was a kid, I loved winter. It meant sledding and days off from school. Snow forts and snowmen. Hot chocolate. This past Christmas brought me some of that joy again. I cling to that moment now with every bit of strength I have. The woman I love and her beautiful children were close. My best friend was still here laughing and smiling. Everyone seemed so happy and calm...and I finally felt at peace again after so long. Happiness. I hope it's not over.

..

The fluctuating of the weather between moments of sun and warmth to the bitter, chilling winds and ice mirror the climbing and falling of my own heart and mind. It's been an entire month since my dear friend passed away so suddenly, but the days still seem long and the nights endless. Sleep is a difficult chore and when it does come, it comes in small doses. It's hard to see beauty anywhere sometimes, but it finds a way to wander into my mind or into view.

Ice clinging to a chain-link fence. Small prints of a rabbit in freshly fallen snow. The embrace of a friend. Love returned from the one you love so deeply. And the sunsets. They've seemed so beautiful since you left. Or maybe you just make us slow down to notice them now. In either case, thank you.

Words don't come easily right now. It seems like a death in itself to someone who holds the pen so close to his heart. Sometimes I'm just afraid of what may escape me. That I may not be able to hold onto it after it bleeds onto the pages. Memories are so vivid in my mind. So perfect. Words don't seem to be enough right now.

But I'm trying. And every day I get out of bed, struggle to push through the exhaustion. It may get worse before it gets better, but I hope the storm will pass. I need the sun on my face. To feel the grass and the trails beneath my feet. To see life springing forth from every nook and cranny. Maybe there's still some left inside of me. It's hard to tell some days. Some days, I feel for a pulse. Or pinch myself wishing it were a dream. But my heart still beats, however faint. And I still feel the pinch in my flesh.

Usher in the Spring. I'm tired of the cold and the darkness.