Nobody gets out of here alive – A Poem inspired by actual lyrics

Checks and balances,
Running free,
To that deep purple sky,
A freedom,
Unbreathed.

The city, silent, 3 am,
Morning on the horizon,
Still far away,
A fat cat,
Smoking,
Sitting on the side,
Waiting for a meal,
To slide by.

Jerry,
He was dying,
Would take his last breath,
In 25 to 30 years.
No easy way out,
Nobody gets out of here alive,
The hands of fate,
Fighting for,
That release.

Sarah,
She was flying,
Her body lying on the floor,
A needle at her hand,
That last breath,
A miracle of that life,
Wasted away,
In a corner apartment,
That sigh,
That release,
That end,
To see,
To the sea,
Release.

Giving up,
To the world,
An ode,
To live,
To live with each rising sun,
To die,
To die with each setting sun!
Good night…

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Things I have learned throughout my life as a blogger — Advice to the future

Things I have learned throughout my life as a blogger — Advice to the future  or How I learned to love myself in the modern age of Dance

A Look inside a Human Machine by Jason Giecek Human at Large

01/21/2019 – Louisville, Kentucky

I started blogging in 2008 on a site called Open.Salon, it was a fun time activity I began after working at a casino ran by the mob (Or Caesars and later Horseshoe) as an IT worker, breaking computers with a hammer or TNT as they wouldn’t reboot properly.

It was a good time to be alive.

I wrote about the crazy thoughts that poured into my skull and out of my fingers at 3 AM, a thing I still practice today except I don’t stay up that late, usually curling up into a ball in my bed at around 1:30 in the AM, still late for some.

Truthfully honest, I’ve been writing for a lot longer than 2008, I actually been writing my entire life, but, very rarely sharing my tomes, except for one girl I knew back in the third grade.

She laughed at me and that’s when I found out, women are cruel witches put on this planet to make men sad and miserable at their “Short comings!”

I kid.

Some were put on this planet to just run men over in their cars.

Moving on.

I discovered early on that in writing, sad depressive pieces sell better.

Not exactly sure why, maybe people like to read about people having more issues than them.

Happy love stories make them think their lives aren’t as good as the writer’s and it makes them sad whereas, they read a sad story, poetry, etc. and they’re like, “At least I’m not that guy!”

It’s like sad movies, sometimes we just need a good cry, get all the pain out of the system.

I will admit, most of my poetry is sad, depression filled words, from a deep dark place that is called me.

Sometimes when I write such things, I’m in happy land, but just picking at old wounds scabbed up.

For some reasons, we as humans like to pick at scabs, open up old wounds, bring up old memories, things that haunt us as we sleep, dream of old loves, loves that never were, etc. etc.

I really suck at letting go.

I think I get that feature from my mother’s side of the gene pool.

Along with me worrying about things I cannot change.

About the little things.

The big deals usually roll off of my back, becoming fertilizer for my writings, there sitting in some chair at 3 am.

Actually, the little things become good fertilizer as well.

I think everything can be used to grow the imagination, except the news, the news sucks!

Nobody likes to read about current events, unless, it’s a spoof of current events.

People love reading funny things about like Senators and Congressmen and sexy governors in lingerie.

The governor’s name?

Steve.

Anyways, that’s about it, I write to keep from going insane. Well, more insane.

Okay, I write to keep from wandering the streets and get in trouble with the law.

Good night and have a better tomorrow…

Gin with Strangers – A Reading of a Deranged Mind

Gin with strangers,
3 AM, in some bar,
Pink champagne,
On ice,
Some other place,
With better people,
But none speak English,
And lift their pinkies when they drink.

Gin with strangers,
Seedy place,
The bouncer is just a broom stick handle,
I don’t care,
Keep pouring em Joe,
My friends here are buying,
I say with a smile,
There ain’t no friends,
Just strangers at the bar,
They forgotten their own names,
Puke on their sleeves,
Wiped across the bar,
Names written on the bathroom wall,
For a good time call Shirley,
Or Maude,
Or Frank.

Two Forty Five,
Time is going backwards,
Fast,
Like a shitty dance,
The gin is slowly acting,
Breaking a brain cell,
Worse than watching a late night talk show,
While taking sleeping pills,
Chased down with vodka.

4 AM,
The bar is closing,
The bottles are all dry,
The patrons petered out,
Misery loves company,
And all that Jazz,
One last gin,
A drabble in the glass,
Is that even a word?
Glass?
I don’t remember.

Sins, drinks, flowing through a stream,
Sins, licks, trollops in skin tight jeans,
Juice, a glass, drink, repeat,
Gin with strangers,
Repeat another night!