I finished it. Finally finished it. After pages and pages had been pillaged, bagged, smoked, rewrote, gouged, burned, reversed, jumbled, rewritten again, and again, smashed to oblivion, and finally written again. It’s finished.
I sigh with a joyous breath of calm and scan through, marking everything, editing every sentence, and character that’s gleaming out from every page. I smile with a slight grimace, unsure, where’s this unsurity ensuing from? Why don’t I celebrate? I’m done. But there’s so much more to this isnt there?
Why did I rush this? Why did I dedicate the last two and a half years to this, and then, here near the end, blast through with an urgent rapping at the helm? I’d scoured every page front and back, edited from beginning to end, and gave my friend a rounded, well-thought-out, polished version of his life story. Commas are in place, run-on sentences excised, paragraphs etched and modeled to represent the best of this man. I didn’t want to take away the easy-going nature of John’s character and spirit, so I let him write from his point of view as it is when it is. Something is moving in his writing as though he remembers these old memories and moments as though they happened in the now. I find it comforting, and I enjoy the way he recalls this and that so effortlessly. And now I’m done.
So why is there a hollow feeling within? Why does my heart feel heavy? I’m proud of my work and being finished, but there’s a salt to the air and my breath holds.
He’s dying, matter of fact. Two weeks ago, he’d told me of his diagnosis. I felt stunned, distraught, and a harrowing sadness digging deeper than I’d expected. He hadn’t smiled, giving this information; if so, it was meek and quick, but he told me sincerely and with not a quiver in his throat. I tried to stay collected and calm, remembering I’m not dying, well, not like he is, and this isn’t about me. But then I think of him and how he’s become a surrogate father and a great friend, how he’s introduced me to the calmness of being and gentleness of the heart that leaves me feeling cleansed and detoxed of the poisons from my past. He’s taught me how to allow forgiveness from others and what it means to be humble. He’s shown me humility and grace, and I’m left here, not knowing what to say to him to thank him.
Now, thinking in the darkness, writing this out, I think I know why I pushed it out quickly, like ripping a band-aid off. I’m afraid of saying goodbye, but want to give him the gift of a finished book before he’s gone.
It seems contradictory to the unspoken wants left behind, meaning plenty but never being mentioned, and to die with what’s to come.
The pen sits heavy in my hand, palms are sweaty and the page glares up at me with a resonance that has me shield my eyes and shake my head. I stare aimlessly down and struggle to bring the fountain head down with my squinted eyes. There’s a vibrating of tenuous pressure leaving me quivering with fear of what will take place when pen meets paper. I hesitate for only a brief moment and take aim assaulting the screaming bleached sheet. The scribbling is chaotic, misshapen but growing and gnashing at the words while they crawl away at what was once a clean piece. My heart sits heavy, presses against my ribs and agonizingly begs for more. It begins to take shape though, a resonating beam of self issues from the sheet and screams for more, hollers for a pedestal and burrows further in. What grows is not beauty, nor decrepit. It heaves with a shudder and breaths its first breath. Something becomes from nothing and takes forefront of the mind, the heart, and bleeds everlasting.
The thing is, music is engrained in me. It’s not only a part of me but it’s tied to a profound implication of a beauty that’s so resolute of humanities that I can’t but be amazed by it all.
The thing is, regardless of the time, the situation. Whether I’m doing art, writing, clay, school, kitchen cleaning, cooking, sketching, tattooing, regardless, the music is there.
So much so, actually, that I posted the last hour and forty minutes of what played during that time.
The thing is, I’ve been connected and moved to music since I can remember, and much like writing and art for me, music is an enthralling piece of what life is that I feel responsible in listening to it. It moves me, encourages me, and aids me when I’m low, what more can you ask for. It’s like a faceless friend that’s always there to give something.
I digress, sorry, I hope you enjoy the tunes and have a great day.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. Thank you so very much for your support and the coming back again to read my thoughts. I truly do hope that your day is bright and your night is amazing and blissful. And I thank you for being you.
Luckily I was treated with the grace of a mother and grandparents who were very comfortable in the kitchen and loved to cook for their families. And luckily for me, I didn’t have much to do but eavesdrop and pay very close attention when they were cooking, which I did a lot. So most things I want to cook if there is a recipe I’m usually able to do it if not and I follow my gut it also usually comes out well, it’s a matter of trying fancy things like desserts that I really want to learn.
Sugar Craft
I’ve always wanted to get into the baking and chocolate crafting or sugar crafting, whatever it’s called. The idea of making a beautiful chocolate ball that inside has delicious fresh fruit and making it able to open on its own using heat or another source sounds awesome to me. That said, I have literally tried baking something different only once, and it was a mirror cake. It turned out pretty cool just not exactly what I was going for.
That’d be my want, of being an area that I would love to delve into, If I had the Time and the means.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. I thank you for visiting my site and I love the support shown. Thank you for being you.
I would love to say both, truly I would love to say both and a fraction of me definitely favors a good portion of fictional stories with cat characters and the likes, that said it’s Dogs everyday, always.
I grew up with cats all my life, my Grandma had many, aunties had a plethora, and for some reason I never felt safe around them, always had this inclination that if the opportunity arose, they’d be the death of me.
There was Tiki, a pure white cat, he was a hunter and my dad’s cat. I’m pretty sure that coyotes had their way.
But no, again for me it’s dogs, I’ve always felt close to dogs, and the older I get the better acquainted with dogs I’ve become. As of now I have a Great Pyrenees, a Shih Tzu terrier, and a Mini Dachshund.
They are the protectors.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. May your night be blissful and the day be gorgeous, may peace come to your heart and patience in your mind. Thank you for the support and thank you for being you.
Shamefully it’s been a bit more than a week since I’ve dived into producing another piece, that said, where I lose myself is when I paint, write, and sing.
However, it’s the writing where I not only lose track of time but I lose track of most things, I end up finding myself stopping, pensively searching within for the relation to what I’m in and who is becoming the character on paper.
It’s the same with painting, I melt with the liquids and plummet into what is being thrown on the canvas. I let my spirit take way to a direction unknown and breathe in what becomes.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. I thank you for your grace and coming back again and again.
May your night be splendid and gentle and the day be bliss and love.
If you could host a dinner and anyone you invite was sure to come, who would you invite?
One: I’d have it set to the theme of one’s Last Meal. Two: given this is purely hypothetical, I would invite Amy Tan, Louise Penny, Neil Gaiman, Shirley Jackson, Stephen King, Toni Morrison, Dallas Green, Sam Rockwell, Bjork, Chuck Palahniuk, Harlan Coben (before Netflix), Agatha Christie, Ludovico Einaudi, The Hics, Kurt Vonnegut, Ray Bradbury, Joy Harjo, Jeff Buckley, Norman Mailer, and Thomas Harris.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. I thank you for being who you are, for reading this, and coming to support. Thank you.
Like a good wine I feel that the best things to be better through age is the understanding, scratch that. It’s knowledge, this referring to the skills and the specificity of whatever information and facts that one would and can gather through education, life, or experience. But, I brake, take pause and think of ‘understanding’ that wonderful ability of us being able to understand something.
So it’s the multitude of knowledge and understanding that helps with the intrinsic and empathy value that makes me. I’d slap the younger version of myself before asking if he’d want to share a cup a’joe, myself now, id want to discuss and peer through further to better myself and the steps forward.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night, thank you for coming, thank you for the likes, and continued support. Most importantly, thank you for being you.
I’d love to say I sleep eight hours a night, or that I get my sleep in like I breathe, but I’m afraid that’s never been the case.
Even with the foul and severely depleting fatigue from the MS I carry, the sleep doesn’t find me easy.
I’m always the last in bed nearing one or two in the morning and then 630 7 the next morning, literally a few hours after falling asleep.
It’s funny to think that it may be a health issue when knowing that Leonardo da Vinci would go an hour or two to do his craft, then go nap for an hour and go back to it everyday for years. The thing is I’m not DaVinci, on top of that there is a call to actually get a decent amount of rest when you have a neurodegenerative disease like MS, Parkinson’s and the likes, but it’s either a compelling that makes it where I can’t, and my body won’t. This is more than frustrating, and yet I have an opportunity to take the advantage and use it, learn my craft in my painting, especially my watercolor, more than especially, my f****** writing. But then again I like the raw account and very journalistic variety that I bring because well I’m f****** bored with everything else, aren’t you? I’m just trying to find a niche for myself and those who like to come into the site, wish I had more knowledge in computers and making websites that are involved.
Scratch that there we go again it’s a choice I either make the attempt and trying to figure it out, or don’t, or I weigh and measure which things I need to actually curate and strengthen and then look at the other things that yeah they’re nice but do I need it? I don’t know again are these questions that you think are these the things that trouble you daily or am I alone in this kind of thinking these kind of thoughts throughout my entirety of the journal since January 1st 2024, are these thoughts how people think?
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. Thank you for reading my prompts posts, thank you for coming to the site, thank you for being a reader, and thank you for being you.
What strategies do you use to increase comfort in your daily life?
Always will there need to be coffee available. Music, music is always a need when looking for a focusing agent, and segway alternative. But then…we call for the hunger that pangs at the stomach, the monotony of routine that is sometimes relied on, but I digress there’s no comfort there. Yay, the food nourishes, keeps my kind sharp, of course, but it’s the nuances of self that call for at least giving a damn for a minute about ourselves. Right? Growing up I saw very little joy and a lot of work that brought very little happiness along the way. What had truly been seen as a beacon for me growing up, it was the imagination that I let fuel the dreams that became who I am today. That said I make the world’s around me fit what I’m needing to fit with what I’m wanting throughout each day. Though it may seem nihilistic, maybe even lazy, I assure you it’s not. I get to wake up and be the dad I want to be, I get to wake up and be the husband I want to be, while doing those two things I also get to be the writer, the dreamer, the artist, and the poet because I am.
But still that coffee and music needs to be there.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. May your day be bright and the night a joyous splendor for you.
You know, growing up I didn’t really get what vacation was, and the first time I did have an actual legitimate vacation I was almost uneasy. I know it’s odd or at least I can assume one reading what I’m stating would go ‘what the hell is wrong with you?’
Ever hear of guilt? Would be my retort back.
There’s always been a inner motion to be the best host, and to help as much as many as possible purely because it’s something I enjoy and I feel that that’s really it. So being the father and husband that I am I get to practice that, that said I think my favorite part about vacations of the few that we’ve had anyhow, it has to do with the building up of family. Every vacation I get closer with an uncle, closer with a cousin, and the mentality of what it means to them for family and I think the analyzing of those around me and picking up from them what matters I don’t know I find it resolute as from the get-go I like humans it doesn’t mean I want to talk to every human but I like watching people that I find it perplexing to see people behave in ways that befuddle me. Anyhow I wish you all very well.
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night, may your day be beautiful May the night be blessed and graced. Dream on fellow readers.
Today I’m doing a poetry post due to celebrating family and being together tomorrow. I’ve got loads of prep work and wanted to post this before the fourth has encroached on the rest of my joys.
I hope you are all well and hope the poem is enjoyed.
Tell Me by: M. R. Vega
C’est La Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night. May the day and wondrous darkness that comes through the nightly winds caress you gently and tuck you in for a splendid dream fueled bliss.
That is one hundred days of being committed to posting within the 25 hours of each day. One hundred days of writing journalistic introspection through the days of life and the pursuit for love and continued happiness.
Though I’ve made sure to be confidently busy and goal oriented these last 100 days, I felt that time would have become a more fast moving type, something too fast to catch up on being here with my family and raking in stories from the sarlacc pit of my brain.
Stories I have. And there will be more, but as I stated throughout day one to now and likely what will continue, I really enjoy emphasizing the importance of thinking outside of yourself and being with the people that are close to you and the ones you love. So I’ve been trying to maintain a general 50/50 for what I do for myself and what I do for my family (wife and son). Personally about 87% of the time I feel that I’m doing a great job, the other 10% I feel comes with confusion and not understanding the other person’s perspective or, let us say, objective. And that last 3% that’s my “I don’t know”.
Point of example earlier today the neighbor who is rather feeble and has fallen a time or two, had thrown a message to me to come over right quick, me quickly moving while the wife is in the bathroom, uttered “I’ll be at the door”, meaning to say “I’m going to go to the neighbors, I’ll be at his door, I’ll be right back”. I was just trying to be fast so I would be back in the house before there are any issues but this neighbor has a motor of a mouth that doesn’t know when to turn off.
I get back home she’s sternly crossing her arms over her chest subconsciously pretty sure she was tapping her foot, and giving me this look like I’m this piece of s*** child that she needs to keep track of, cuz apparently me stating that thing I’d be back real quick she had this idea that I literally flew the coop.
To which (I really hope you’re reading) I don’t have the f****** spirit or energy In Me to put that much effort to break anybody’s heart especially yours and especially our sons. I have constantly been in a state of confusion not knowing whether I’m coming or going when it comes to this relationship, so every step I damn make you better f****** believe it’s with intention and it’s with direction to make sure that at least the half of the relationship knows that I did everything within my effort to make sure it was seen, that the effort in making sure my love for her and for him are 100% right there.
And to top the situation her thinking that I flew the coop I’m already in the house, mind you, she’s standing there still upset, while I explained the situation and continued explaining that I thought that the big moose had fallen again and he wanted to give us some meatballs and sauce . She then asks me later on after needing to get some feminine products from the bathroom, if I know where any of the others are, that she had a bunch in the drawer and then utters “what did you do with the tampons?” she asked.
Okay now here is where I feel a lot of the time I don’t know what the hell is going on in her head, god if I only could, honestly I don’t think I would want to, especially with a lot of things lately.She’ll issue concerns or issue an idea of what’s actually/not actually happening that is nowhere near reality because this isn’t a CW TV show, and because as I dutifully and very honorably have stated over and over and over again I am right here. Every inch, every bit, for you(her), down to the last iota, everyday till I die.
Now, I think after so many times and after so much showing and actual accountability and every f****** step, it gets to a point where it is not only tiring but conveniently exhausting and I don’t know if it’s a personal achievement on her perspective goal, I don’t know. And that’s something else I just don’t know, that 3%, this kind of melts in with everything else. I do not know how anything works other than what I’m doing right here, right now. Yes, I know how the PlayStation works, yes I know how the lights work, and all the other items. But what I’m talking about, I cannot make you think anything, I can’t make you decide a decision you’re making, that is not for me to make. I do not write this with ever an intention of making you feel something, I am simply writing. Yes, there are opinions, yes, there are comments, and yes, there is a likely convoluted depiction of life from some guy with a broken brain trying to wrap it together. Again my goal always will be to right right truthfully, right honestly, and with intention. Even if it’s for just talking, just giving a definition of a day for anybody something someone doesn’t matter. This isn’t some fatalistic or nihilistic kind of perspective life does matter what it is is I’m writing because I like writing, I’m talking because I literally have no one to talk to, and this is where I dissolve my worries, this is where I release the gasket of pressures that are inside my soul and burning me down down. That’s what this is and I apologize for the collection of likely off sentences but this is what it is. And apparently this is definitely day 100 since this is the most I’ve talked about most things.
Whoa, a lot said, perhaps a little, or maybe it’s just showing. Again and life sometimes I just don’t know and I don’t like letting the mind drift into a worrying spectacular exploration of what can’t and me likely never happen, so it goes right?
C’est la vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night you fantastic and supportive readers. I truly do thank you every time you guys come to take a look and follow and truly inspires for more creation. And given that my masters will likely be digging into psychology I think given I talk about my life and goals for the relationship I have with my wife I think I’m going to start delving into a psychological variable with relating details and how to overcome the difficulties, mind you I’m figuring it out as I go which I’m assuming most of us are trying to do that very thing. Again I do wish you a wonderful day or night and stay safe.
I do hope your day is splendid and wonderful and to those who are new to my site or the page or just this post, I have been dropping a daily journalistic and introspective take to what it’s like being a stay-at-home Dad being in school, married, while struggling with MS as it develops and evolves.
One of my favorite things aside from this and writing is my art outside of school and the enjoyment in expressing whatever it is in my head, because what’s in my here and what I end up putting down are two very different depictions. Secondly, the MS brings on a compilation of colors and effects that I couldn’t have imagined without the MS or at least that’s how it feels sometimes.
What is below is not all the art that I’ve done through the time and I will be dropping finished pieces within the next week or two but this is more depiction of how I’m faring or how I’m dissolving. Neurologists aren’t all that great with communication and I feel like there’s something to be done with our doctors as I thought they were working for us; you know the patient. But time and time again it feels like that is not the case if ever.
So if you notice I do start with acrylic, however, until I decided to start really adding water by using Caran D’ache NEOCOLOR II AQUARELLE, there was an element that kept whatever was being created inanimate. So a lot if not most of what is above has an organic element that I had hoped could be grasped. But the other thing is when it comes to faces which if you continue to follow and read throughout my telling of MS and life, the faces mean more than anything else, because the faces, though they depict one thing are usually shrouded, clouded, and covered for the fact that is how it feels here, living, being in my body. There are 30,000 ideas, thoughts, feelings, and emotion through this tenuous thread that I feel vibrates and flows within life but…there are these handicaps that I keep finding in my life and I feel that the more and more I try to convey what’s going on the less of a mouth I have, the less truth can be heard.
C’est la vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night you beautiful cherished and supportive readers, I hope you the best, and I hope to see Good Fortune for all. Till tomorrow…
Sundays am I right? There’s this amalgamation of the entirety of the whole week that built up to that last day or the “Sabbath Day“.
I know, sorry, I didn’t mean a no humor or slight with saying an italicized Sabbath day, it’s just depending on your preference. Personally I stand from the source a belief in virtue, respect, accountability, and doing the best to walk in the line of light. Now whether that has to do with the angel of Light; Lucifer, or the path of God, or being Hindu. It’s up to you, as long as you respect others and respect yourself I don’t think it should matter as much as we hold weight to mentioning religious values.
Personally I was raised Christian, and depending on what year kind of the more abrasive of Christian stances, like house to house ministries in Temecula California. Fell away from it growing up realizing I am me and I have my own mind and I can make up my own decisions and I can be the light that I know I can be instead of being told that I was damned and merely a rock that could be trotted on due to well being a teen or preteen during that time growing up. But there are great things that I still get spiritually and a bit emotional about due to the power behind the meaning of a lot of what I was brought up on and with. But again my My Little drop today has nothing to do with it insult to anybody with religious views or perspectives by all means to each their own I do wish you the best, and I truly hope that you bring as much genuine accountability generosity and beautiful power with how we or you treat each person you see day after day after day and how our actions can be perceived in aiming towards being a good person and having that benefit of a doubt.
And yet I know that they’re comes they need to be a little bit Street smart, know that not everybody is genuine, not everybody has the best site for anything but themselves and some are greedy, some will lie, and others will cheat to get everything they want. To which I have been over and over again mentioning that that is not me and I will be sure to show accountability regardless and always take accountability with ownership of who I am and how I act and what it said and everything. Anyhow the week was long.
Such a lame blip of s*** right there – ‘the week was long’. It was learning honestly finding situations where there’s truths that neither want to be acknowledged or focus on when it comes to life or relationships. I’m trying to be patient scratch that I am being patient though there is an impatient bone within me that calls for conversing. But the thing is a genuine conversation that doesn’t hold marks of shaming one another talking down to one another but simply addressing the simple matter of facts to what being in a relationship in a marriage mean to the ideologies of being left alone when the expectation outside of oneself doesn’t share that being left alone. And though I know this is wrapped in riddling organization in how I’m talking, relationships especially having to do with marriage come with a odd edge of this tedious tug of war that I think is unneeded.
I think the biggest thing is if you say you want me, and you say you love me, but you can’t have the patience to but take away your face from the f****** phone in your hand doesn’t mean anything? It’s shown that it does, but then at the other side there’s this avoidance and this very direct and what comes off as an intentional aiming to be so busy that one cannot be troubled to take a minute to talk. To talk for the heart and for the balance and foundation of one another, and I think that’s where I’m starting to lose my footing. And I do get nervous about this losing footing because there is love and I want that love, thing is I didn’t think I’d need to trade who I am and the way I like to communicate and like to talk and need to siphon off my conversing in communication funny that I need to legitimately shut that off and be mute and not be a part of others be involved in my households and the people here but I am expected to shut it until wanted. I don’t know, it leaves me searching for an answer to why and I don’t think I’ll ever get an answer in actual truth to the variable of a relationship and who we are to one another for each other but again maybe I’m wrong, God hopefully I’m wrong.
Well I think I got a bit emo on this one I apologize, I am going to sign out now and take my planning and see what I have set for the week I will hopefully talk to you guys Monday morning and share some perspectives of what is going on in life. Did you plan on dropping art I will edit the other day and what art was posted in those images, who created them while also acknowledging the credit due. But if there could be a response to if you guys want to see art or don’t or are wanting something specific added, that would be greatly appreciated and definitely help with what I’m trying to curate with dreamdarkstories.com.
Please and thank you.
C’est la vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night you wonderful supportive readers, I do thank you for coming back again and again either to support or simply take a look. I hope your day is gentle and I hope the night is peacefully graceful.
The blaring alarm shatters through the thick web of dreamland that David finds himself falling away from while he wakes drenched, drool cakes around his lips and beard, and shakes his entirety. Disregarding the mess on his face he grabs the phone immediately hoping that there would be a text message missed, in hopes a line of missed notifications. A hopeful meme or the goofy and dumb gifs the kids have sent in the past. The phone screen barely registers his finger jousting and to his dismay, once the screen blinks on, nothing. Just his usual weather alerts and breaking news alerts notifications.
However David was wanting to feel sorry for himself and started with staring up at the popcorn ceiling, something he still neglected to fix and instead vied for a moment or three to wallow while doing so. David wanted to sink into the blankets and drown on grief. But instead he brought his body up, walked steadily to the bathroom and started a shower. He had to figure out what to do, not just what to do but how to get his wife to understand that he took care of the problem. That problem smoldering and rotting downstairs.
He’s already gotten a call from his sister calling him scum, calling him the trash of the Earth that is meant for nothing but spoil, his brother threatened his life, and his parents have refused to answer the calls he’s made everyday since she found out. What troubles David and what has lingered even after she had left with the children, and what will become of him if she found out what really had come to be the night at question, at fall, at the end.
The stinking and gnarled claws pick away at the darkness surrounding its mass, overwhelming it, it permeates the air, down to that last iota of the sogging mass. It is thrumming through tip to tip and thrashing, a hunger covets the beating heart above. Eyes covered, mouth sewn it struggles to breathe, but continues to suck at the agony and grief, the lies and the filth fuel enough, it sends for food another way, always to the next day, growing, reading and it grows while he ignores, ignores and neglects the need. His need.
Her – day 14 processed through Wombo.AI and self prompted from what’s written in red.
The shower did well, he came out feeling refreshed and partially awakened. David found himself still needing food though, needing to get his body moving, and make an effort to manage the shit storm he’d created in the last week or two. He’d have at least a week or two before she even tried to contact him if ever, but knowing the kids and how the state felt both parents needed involvement, she’d make due the effort if it made her look good. He knew that, meaning he’d have to get downstairs sooner than later…definitely sooner he thought. But he went to the back yard once the clothes were on and the coffee drip started, he slid the heavy backdoor along its rail and peered over the drooping Austrian Pines he’d hated since they moved to the house. The branches took direction with the wind and leaned heavy with the snow, it left him usually trimming and chopping down peculiar and slanted branches that scraped the gravel and hid the windows. He then checked that onto the list he’d started early in the morning of steps to finish before his family got back, maybe, maybe he’d be able to close the door and play it off as drunken stupor and a mistaken person. He’d pile the yardwork up and bunch it with other mess, it’d distract from the obvious, he smirked and breathed in the pollen of the morning, the low hanging dew that forgot to stick to the blades of buffalo grass, and scuttled back toward the kitchen with a grin, leaving the door to the back open.
A metal camping mug, a favorite of his held the coffee, a dark, thick and placid liquid stared up at David while he lingered back to the door. He wished for a taste of menthol, looked toward the steps that went to the basement and back to the trees, to the San Isabel mountain range thinking. Pushing the piping hot coffee mug against a temple wondering what could be possible and who could he call for help. His brother would likely kill him through the phone with a call, his sister would call his wife, and as for friends, well they were all her friends too he thought, and would likely call with concern, more questions that didn’t need peering into. He didn’t need that, couldn’t have it like that, it was already spinning out of control, he was far past being at a loss. Suicide was about of question and he knew she’d laugh, she’d mock and snivel with a smirk and smile at his funeral, it would only hurt him, she wouldn’t let the kids know, he’d become a figment of an idea after a year or two. He shook the thoughts from himself and slid the door shut, he sipped at the coffee and now stared at the steps leading down. Leading to the darkness. Leading to a mess.
There’s rhythm to the shuddering above, a tremble steady, another tremble deeper, louder, closer, the shuddering stops. There’s a heave, a pull, a lunge of the heavy darkness that swallows and masticates what’s there, it gnaws at the fat, bone, skin and the viscerally revolting. It gnaws and waits in the darkness while up above comes a pacing, a striking, counting down, stacking, planning, to erase, to be rid. To remove it, remove her, burn her, leave it smoldering and rotting far, far, far from here.
Her – image from day 22, processed using prompts from red highlighted using Wombo.AI
There was a moistness in the air that latched to his arms halfway down, the next step brought a reeling to his guts as a smell hit his throat and shoveled thus directly to his nose of rot filth death in a putrid that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get away from for months. It only been 2 days, and he had no idea how to get that smell out of anything. The panic started to set in. He looked down at the black sticky bag and prodded it with the toes of his boot. The peculiar plastic of the bag squelched and crunched, nothing else moved. He pushed again this time with the back of a heel to make sure there wasn’t a pooling beneath the bag, David knew he was a lucky f*****. He smiled knelt down, patted at the plastic bag, threw an arm around it, grunted and hoisted it up.
Good news, good news, Stuck Pt. 2 will be published at 6:30 a.m. MTN tomorrow morning. Now to anyone reading it wasn’t intended to be what it became, it was going to be a manifestation that was created by the turmoil his marriage and life had developed.
As of now I’m teetering on two moves. One is changing Mrs. Nogare s story to be a three to five parter. The second move is to create what’s being written in Stuck to be a murder, mystery chase. I don’t know yet we’ll see.
Anyhow, I hope your Monday is beautiful and the coming Tuesday to be a gift. I hope like to be the same. I’m signing out. Have some memoirs to clean up and more editing for school I need to take off the back burner.
C’est la vie
Goodnight and Good morning, good morning and good night, may you all have a glorious day ahead of you with grace and gentleness to follow.
The story is being edited and I’m running it through my system to which I’ll then be dropping Stuck Pt. 2 later today hopefully by Monday morning but I’m doubting it. My son’s not feeling well, he’s barely eaten, and we’re pretty sure he has another loose tooth, which to be frank, the kid has a really hard time with the face, mostly around his mouth.
So for those of you who have little kids and are fans of Supernatural, try not to watch the episode where the Dr Frankenstein kind of character is pulling eyeballs out of victims. Apparently, our son saw that episode, and for a good six months was traumatized that his eyes would get plucked if somebody was to touch his face in the wrong area.
Which in honesty, I took as a rewarding insight, given that my kid has autism and we were told that he’d likely never be able to pick up on sarcastic cues and dramatic euphemisms, metaphors, dream talk, the superfluous addition to having a talk with people who know you, where you don’t need to be politically and completely appropriate with the way you speak. Well, we were told our son likely won’t pick up on those kind of cues, that the way he’ll be taught and learn won’t coincide with just standard and typical communication. So the understanding was it had to be difficult to wade through.
Though the first three years of working through understanding how to work with his differences and the patience it called for, now him being eleven, it’s come to be a surprise, and every day a gift. There’s a genuine mindfulness I get to watch him grasp through his days. Moments where pure red sweeps over him, but then a breathe, a pause, hands up in the air about to wait down, and he sighs angrily throwing his arms down, stiffening but for a moment. And then a joyous scream and a hug.
That’s another thing, the books, the conversation around the autism spectrum reflect an idea of solitude and being left alone. There are moments where he calls for a moment alone, playtime to himself for himself, the magnetic tiles to build alone, but most of the time he wants to cuddle, to hug, and follow closely. He’ll kiss his momma, big smooches but then when I ask for when give me the forehead or even a hand. I can’t help but laugh because the meaning is well.
I’m grateful and I take the time to acknowledge this in being present and with that I’m off to spend some time with the little guy after losing another tooth, he’s a bit lethargic, wish us luck, be talking soon
C’est la Vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night readers, may rest come to you swiftly and peace blanket the worry.
I’m trying to neglect the multiple sclerosis as much as possible knowing that eventually it will get the best of me. I’m nervous that it’s what I exude and partially what I represent and only that at the worst of times. I feel that there is a thwarting of the familiar that I’m anxiously awaiting to happen. I find it daunting, and the few that I talk to seem annoyed, distant more than intended. And whether they’re actually annoyed or not is to be determined, but when I see the notorious eye-roll after dropping something, or fumbling into a wall, or not catching cues that previously I’ve been known to catch, it’s like a slight slap in the face. I’d like to say I know they mean well, but it’s more a hope than anything else.
Honest, there are days though that are so much better than a large portion of others, take for example: a typical new week.
Days – Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday are okay, decent, the fatigue isn’t as daunting and present. Thursday comes with complete exhaustion, a fatigue that’s not only unbearable but offers a willingness to not do anything, because the body doesn’t want to move. Friday, nearly the same, but it’s hungry, that is the body’s hungry, and the mind stares at the television ignoring the issues, the health, because in all honesty the complaints come with questioning, a queer interpretation of over worrying instead of just taking care of what is present to the patient.
But then there comes a call to myself, a call to take accountability, make an effort and push for communication. I feel that I let in too many distractions to maintain focus. My mind drifts to Henry Sugar and the black wick, drifts to writing, drifts to editing, to composure of being what I’m aiming to be.
StuckPt. 2 will be published this Sunday.
I’m late on my post I apologize it’s been busy I’ve been tired and neglecting getting a full night’s rest as I should try to maintain. I often find that the four to five and a half hours do me well, most of the time it feels that the right hour sleep schedule is too long, and consumes too many opportunities available.
C’est la vie
Goodnight and good morning, good morning and good night gentle readers.
“Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.”
–Marcus Aurelius
Not knowing what your age is, reader, do you feel that you are where you belong? When looking at life, regardless of the age, do you consider you are ahead of your time or are things taking too long? Or is it genuinely starting to feel like things are beginning to fall into place?
I wouldn’t label myself a fatalist, at least, I don’t carry an illusionary hook to finding meaning with everything…but then again maybe it’s something that can’t be ignored. Life has been heavy with loss, weighted by anxieties, confusion, and feeling more than alone, lately in more areas than realized, I’m successful. 33 and I have a home, a family, school isn’t going too horribly and it’s my senior year, the memoir work, being able to produce what I do and having the freedom to do so. It’s more than a pleasure. So far the monetary gain has been nearly moot but I still love being able to do it. I found that the quote below fits well with the intention and direction I aim toward.
I think of what has brought me here, what steps have been made, steps denied, and how choices created have brought a beneficial change for me. It is with making sure my intention and personal accountability is attributed with my every waking hour. I try with deep regard to make sure my choices have been thought through, my questions reworked to not create issue and my hopes are that I’m aiming true and sincere.
Guess that’s all we could hope for right?
C’est la vie
Goodnight and good morning, good morning and goodnight beautiful readers, I’ll share progress of art this Saturday and maybe drop Stuck pt. 2 Sunday so be on the lookout readers.
So today I took some opportunities to take some shots of my Lobo. He is a Great Pyrenees and since getting him as a Christmas gift from my sister, he has brought a lot of calming to my heart. Meet Lobo.
Lobo – days after Christmas.
That doesn’t mean to say that when he gets rambunctious and excited with the squirrels he doesn’t drive me insane, but I do love this guy a lot.
A night of snow and dog slobber.Looking like he’s Loving life.
He’s about a year old now. Weighs about a hundred pounds, it is about just as tall as me if not taller when on his hind quarters and boy do I love the big puppers. Much more than I’d felt for any other dog since I was a kid. Sorry Em. I don’t know, it almost feels like we were meant for each other. But that’s cheesy and I know it, so I just try to cherish the time.
We were graced with a pit terrier a bit after the start of our marriage and birth of our little boy, she was a rescue from the pound and her name was Emily, more than anything she was my wife’s dog, and sadly we had lost her last year.
R.I.P. Emmie
What’s cool though now is that Lobo has become a formidable force in the home, not due to size so much, but the relationship he and my son have been building. Turns out Lobo with his double dos, is highly attached to him, My boy screams with frustration, Lobo will respond, if he’s screaming happy, he responds with a wag and a growool and then they have their silent pac. Given my son is nonverbal, whether it’s that or whether it’s just there’s something about the size that has connected with my son I don’t know but I love watching them. Lobo will slowly impatiently observe and stay but a foot or two away and just watch him, and then they’ll switch sides and they’ll watch each other Lobo will go running off chasing Oreo or shih Tzu terrier and this is giggling watching them and watching Lobo as intently as possible. Anyhow I’ve yet to start taking him on walks given he is still within the 2-year age of growing and I don’t want his joints or anything messed up I know that he’s good here in our yard then he loves the house, I tell him go to his room and he goes right to where it is he knows what it is and I love that. For being a Great Pyrenees and with the generational situation that creates Great Pyrenees since they can’t be mixed with other dogs to make a Great Pyrenees I’m very much surprised with his adaptability and the intentions of his he likes making us happy and I think my family has truly embraced him being here. So I am running out of time I need to get this up before I miss my dates I’m editing right now. So sorry for a late post everyone.
C’est la vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night my wonderful readers that I am truly thankful for, please rest easy.
Good evening readers. Today is going to be a short one. A poem and a painting that is still in production, but given the tooneyness of it, I was wanting to share it here before I post it to my IG account.
Voice by: M. R. Vega
A voice steady and confident, a voice steady with reason. A voice that echoes from history, from the dawn of light, from dark, but does it touch? Does it push and sway, does it recoil with doubt from a conviction that stands resolute? A voice quivers, a frailty, continuous and whining, a voice weak and losing. The confidence waivers, trembles, and slides away. A voice nearly non-existent, weak and weaker, a voice trembles from the indistinguishable darkness, it shakes, it quivers, and slides away to the nothing inside. A voice drifting, a voice, adrift, a voice far away, a voice so silent it ceases to exist. A voice no more, a voice never.
I like to call myself artistic, I don’t call myself an artist per se however I have made profit off of what I’ve created and continue to create. What I’m sharing with you is a bit of a change as I’m not using a plain base, and background, because like a lot of stories we don’t get that background until we’re a good three or four chapters in, or when watching a show episode 3 or 4, it’s then that we start getting the details to what is driving the force or the character. My paintings, and really any of my art is as original as it can be, I try very hard not to look at other artists and then go and do my own art based off of what I had seen. I try not to pull from anything other than what’s in my head. And honestly sometimes those images either give a very clear image of what’s actually going on with my brain getting eaten by itself or does a good job of relating how I’m actually feeling. So with that long explanation, my apology, I present a work still in production.
Don’t Miss by: M. R. Vega
It’s produced on a watercolor canvas, size 32″ x 24″ using Caran D’ache NEOCOLOR II AQUARELLE. But I’m sharing what was solely two and a half hours of minor sketching without water, and then taking some watercolor brushes and starting again, I am excited to see what I can produce tomorrow, depending on how busy I get, I am waiting for a call and we’ll see. I think the biggest reason I felt like sharing it, is it’s more cartoon than I had intended, I did want big eyes, just not cartoon Looney tunes kind of big, but given the strange screen that protruded from the eye of the mouth kind of sets its own precedence. What are your thoughts? Should I widen the eye? Define the screen base more? We’ll see.
C’est la vie
Good night and good morning, good morning and good night wonderful readers, may you have a blessed and gorgeous day whether ending or to come.
Don’t you think it’s funny that we rely on routine so often, yet when the routine tends to show a hindering of our own creativity, we tend to hate on that routine? With the painful admission and acknowledgment on my planner having to remove my dates for payments, dates for in and out, for lunches, having a scratch all that out I was more than elated to find that I had plenty left to do.
MyPassion Planner
The above image is of course the passion planner that I use daily, there are days hell even weeks and the occasional months where I completely lose focus and I’m not going to use those images. Hahaha. I tend to kind of take a sharpie to those times and then address at the very end of how disappointing the outcome was for that lack of initiative that I took. This isn’t one of those weeks thankfully.
After getting fired the way I did, I was flummoxed, I was confused, and more than irritated. I did take care of the matters as best as I thought I could, I really hope I didn’t do it the wrong way. I am talking with a law firm waiting for the investigation to continue and see what ends up happening. To which, on that note, I didn’t think I’d deal with reporting discrimination. Yeah it’s one thing to get teased growing up, it’s another thing to get picked on by family, uncles, and brothers. It’s very much a different reality when it’s affecting not only your person but your income.
But I’m realizing while looking at readers that continue to come to my site, they’re organized, they are connected to a myriad of social routes that will help them access further readers and touch more. So yeah in my planner there’s a little bit here a little bit there are you dressing some things that need to be done, what I really need to do though is pull my head out of my ass, and really pinpoint the issues that could be helped to make dream dark stories continuing prospect. I just need to do more research, focus more on what will bring Dream Dark Stories to the forefront for my focus and to further my goal while also maintaining how I want to be as a husband and as a father and as a student.
C’est la vie
Good night and good morning, good morning good night to you wonderful readers may have a beautiful and pleasant day to come or let It be the night.
Dream Dark Stories 