Slouching on the Couch


I found this in my notes today and enjoyed it. I’m searching for a voice in my writing. I know that sounds corny, but I want to get better. So instead of censoring what I felt inspired to write, I will just say that there is some swearing in here, if that sort of thing bothers anyone who takes the time to read my blog I apologize in advance. My intent is not to offend you but rather to explore my own writing style and come to you from a place of honesty and integrity. Now that I’m done saving face:

Listening to jumpin’ George

“I come crawling out of my warm sack and hit the street,” says Jack.

Slouching on the couch
Listening to Kerouac read crazy poetry over piano

Trying to find inspiration
My fingers feel heavy at the tips
Blood collecting at the bottom

Vibration from these tiny iPod speakers reverberate against the side of my pinkie

Kerouac is quiet now
The boring old apartment
Is alive

The fan twirls
Shadows dance across the ceiling

An owl keeps watch
Over winter boots
On the countertop

The umbrella above
A steel bicycle
The cold fireplace

The constant droning
Grinding gears, fan’s air flowing
Never silent drone

always intruding
My thoughts

Fake typewriter clicks
Profane content invasion
Saw some chicks with dicks

Weird boards at strange angles
Cheap materials
Living poor living small never sleeping

Squinty face curled up
The shine of the sun blinds you
The clock tics and tocs


Denver Street Photography | Uncommon Encounter

as I leaned on the door of my car
photographing the used book store doorway
I saw her approaching out of the corner of my eye
she was with a man pushing a cart filled with their belongings
she became aggressive
quickening her pace
she started to scream
an incoherent diatribe
and began running towards me
in her best zombie sprint
her one tooth glistening in the noon time sun
spittle flying every which way
I swear she was frothing at the mouth
I took a step towards her
and prepared to defend myself
she got as close as she dared
then backed down
laughing that insane asylum type laugh
the smell of stale beer was lingering
a wasp landed right on my glasses
as she and her companion walked away
the man said
what’s so interesting about this building anyway?
why are you taking a picture?
I told him I look for beauty in the mundane
he shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes
as I was getting back in my vehicle
this brave, drunk, and crazy woman
got right between me and the door
she asked if they could get a ride to Greeley
I impolitely declined
and barked out NO!
While she was in my face I took her photograph
several times
invading her privacy
as she invaded mine
I showed her the images of her self
and I imagine her heart sank
and her anger softened
and I felt that she was ashamed
I smiled
and bid her good day

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Denver Street Photography | Uncommon Encounter


The Sounds of Silence

Pinhole Self Portrait

The whirring of the fan beneath the outer layer of the computer

The fan over the dining room table wobbles and groans in an upbeat tempo

The refrigerator hums and chortles as it kicks into it gear

The drone of an airplane motor can be heard passing overhead

The tippity tap of my fingers typing ever present

Every so often my breath skips a beat

I scratch my beard and the side of my head

Pop my knuckles

And belch under my breath


No Probation


So I went to jail that day
Chained to a big black guy from Alabama
I walked the walk of shame
Through the Denver County Court House
Little kids on field trips
Gawked at us as we shuffled by in our chains
To get on the bus that would take us to the
County jail

(I have been thinking a lot about how often I have had to hit the reset button on my life…)