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Wow! I must admit that this has taken me much longer than I anticipated. I've been wondering how I should start my first post. Not sure if I should talk about one of my novels, some of my short stories, my poetry, or if I should just talk about myself (Who I am? What do I like? What's my sign? Blah, blah, blah). For the record, I am terrible with social media and especially blogging. Being the classic introvert that I am, I find it difficult to talk about myself, directly. I honestly don’t think people would believe me anyway.
I've come to believe (or at the very least, suspect) that no one really cares about or wants to hear the truth, anyway. I've also learned through trial and error (mostly severely harsh error) that many would prefer to be relentlessly bedazzled and charmingly engaged, while blindly hearing and seeing only what they want. In fact, from my personal observation, many people choose to go through life oblivious to the everyday truths staring them in the face, regardless of how those everyday truths govern their lives.
Politics, religion, and race, for instance, are supposed to be taboo subjects to discuss in social gatherings. And, because of that, I firmly believe our world is in turmoil and will continue to worsen until we open our eyes and take action. I, personally, am guilty, for I've grown accustomed to being close-mouthed about myself and my opinions in general; especially in comparison to the millions, upon millions of readily available opinions shoved down our throats on an hourly basis.
Furthermore, in my many years of travel, I've discovered (the hard way) that I (apparently) have this unintentional knack for being so blatantly truthful that it angers, annoys, and sometimes even creeps out people. We all know that one socially awkward person who's just a little (or a lot) off beat, out of step, out of style, out of touch, or out of sync with the rest of the sheeple. And, of course, we all have that one family member who always seems so uncomfortably out of place at family functions or social events that he or she manages to say or do all the wrong things (that is, if he or she speaks at all).
In my case, it often comes off as antisocial, weird, goofy, distant, or even standoffish. So, these days I write novels, poems, and short stories. I speak through my character. It’s become a way to talk about me without actually talking about me. In fact, I often wear my heart out on my sleeves, through my characters (one must read one of my novels to decipher the seemingly madness within). Notwithstanding, I do believe I create such intensely charming, 3-dimensional characters that the moment I've finished the novel, I often found myself depressed for days after that. I don’t know if other authors have that particular issue, but I deal with it by continually writing novels. In fact, if I’m not starting a book, I’m finishing one, usually with one or two in between. But, please believe me when I tell you that I'm not bragging; I honestly couldn't care less about accolades, I do it merely as a coping mechanism in response to all the B.S. going on around me and worldwide. I'll elaborate in future posts to come (should you bravely decide to stick around).
Well, I do believe I've run my mouth long enough. However, for being brave enough to suffer through my soul-searching, amateur psychoanalysis, I thank you! In fact, I think I'll end this venture with a poem. I've got poems all over the internet and even a book of poetry in the Amazon E-book store. However, this is one I have yet to publish. It's just a little something I had laying around, so YOU are the first to see it. Perhaps, I'll end every post with a short poem or flash fiction, maybe even excerpts or chapters from my novels, we'll see; in the meantime, hope you like it...
When I was Homeless
When I was homeless no one had the time
it was as though I committed a crime;
For nobody loves you when you’re out on the street
(with nowhere to go, or nothing to eat).
When I was homeless, I never heard the birds sing.
Holidays didn’t mean a thing!
I spent my days wandering from place to place
(roaming through time and space).
Because, when you’re homeless no one wants you around.
You drift from town to town searching for a place to lay your
head. Sometimes you’d rather be dead!
When I was homeless, I hadn’t a thing to eat, nor could I rest
my feet, because everywhere I’d stop someone would call a
Cop. And he’d make me move along (as if I’d done something
When I was homeless, people would point and stare.
Hostility was everywhere!
“GET A DAMN JOB!” was all I’d hear (from poor lost souls who
couldn’t comprehend that manic depression was setting in)
all I needed was a friend; when I was homeless.