And the Lord said: Let there be muck!

Before there was life, there was muck. If it wasn't for the serpent, Eve might have told Adam to keep his mucky hands off her apples. Noah took two of every kind of muck onto the ark. The dinosaurs missed the boat because they were stuck fast in muck. And people have always been mucking in, mucking around, and mucking it up. The ancient Greeks wrestled naked in muck. The Romans built an empire on muck. Serfs in the Middle Ages owned nothing but the clothes on their backs, and the muck on their clothes. Caravaggio could paint muck better than anyone. Shakespeare wrote several plays about muck. It was muck that lost Napolean the battle of Waterloo. Queen Victoria had her own private muck pit. WW1 saw miles of trenches dug out of the muck. Orville and Wilbur Wright were the first to fly over a bit of muck. The world told Hitler to muck off out of it. The 1960s were all about peace and free muck. We smoke muck. snort muck, inject muck into our veins. There are songs about muck. Movies that are full of muck. Books like The Idiot's Guide to Muck. We share our muck on social media and like other people's muck. Muck makes the world go round -- Where would we be without it?

What if someday never arrives? I have been thinking a lot about control. The illusion of it and the safety in it as well. The helplessness that ensues when you finally realize you cannot control everything or everyone.

My friends lost their baby this week. They are the nicest people and this was their first baby. Delivery was for this week... then my friends and I get a text. They lost their baby. A girl. They had decided to not find out the gender until the due date arrives.

What do you say to that? I pray, I know not everyone does but all I can think of is, I will pray for you. I don't know what else to say. Maybe that is okay. Maybe sometimes there are no words. there is only the action of being there and sitting with your loved ones in their grief. I cannot begin to understand and I can seek to understand but only when they are ready and wanting to share.

But I still sit with this feeling of helplessness. I think because of past experiences/traumas in my own life having control is became the source of safety. If I can control my relationships, if my romantic relationship do not progress, or if I don't date at all, I am safe from harm. But what a way to live huh?

I hope one day I can give up on this illusion and sit with the helplessness that ensues. Would that mean I finally embrace what being human really is? Is that what being a human is?

So I sit here on my couch, going between crying and numbness. I wish I could do something, I wish for a lot of things.

So if someday never arrives, what will I do to make sure my life has meaning?

I will write,

I will show up for my loved ones,

I will accept the unacceptable fact that you cannot heal the world with a broken heart... or even a whole one for that matter.

--- Poem time---

Poem for your thoughts?

coins down a well with no ending

if there is no ending where do we even begin?

Come to the wishing well darlin'

throw in your hopes and dreams

and I will throw in mine,

maybe our bound forevers

will become bound together

maybe we can finally find the "more"

that was always present but never seen.

Maybe, maybe maybe,

I guess that is the whole point of a wishing well now isn't it?

------- food for thought---

If food was a time machine

I would eat my Nonna's pasta until the day I die

which would be prolonged by the fact that I will travel back in time

see the eyes of my young Nonna, hard and determined

a nurse with broad shoulders and a stubbornness to boot.

Who stood toe to toe to doctors, protected her older sister fiercely

doesn't matter she was older, my Nonna would never let anyone trample over her.

As I get older I wish I had that sort of toughness that grit. I think in some respect we all wish that we could different from our current selves. Sometimes i think it is such a fickle feeling. I wish I could just enjoy the me in this current moment.

I suppose wishing is a good place to start.

So many thoughts, if I were ever to become a poet, my book would be 3,000 pages long hahaha... but really it would be more long winded than having a conversation with me. I like to turn the attention on the person talking, sharing a little about myself but mostly hearing another the other person, mostly letting them speak. Usually this is pretty easy to do, other times its as if they know what I am doing. I am not saying I am not an interesting person I just don't like talking about myself all that much.

Oh well would you look at that perfect timing as I write about myself... my time is up hehe ;)

Twenty years ago I cried every day on the way to work. My husband finally said I needed to find something else to do and I did and it was good. Until it wasn't. And then I found something else but my husband was diagnosed with Parkinson's and we turned 50 that same year so we accepted there was far more life behind us than ahead and I retired from a six figure job with too much stress I couldn't and didn't want to handle with the new stresses at home and decided to pursue acting, writing and painting - life-long passions I hadn't pursued because of lack of faith in myself and a desire, a need, for more security than life in the arts could provide. And so, here I am, seven years later, happily pursuing my passions yet, again, crying every day on the way to work. Work is great. I love what I do as well as the time it gives me to write and read. But I feel the increasing weight of the world with the earthquake of changes shifting the very foundation of lives across the country and the world in its entirety, and as I drive I am overcome with a blinding terror of what may come given the bleak and long history of man's cruelty to man and a persistent inabilty to learn from past errors, indeed a tendency to repeat, repeat, repeat, to profess love of God yet spread hate. And I bawl as I fret over my son's future, my husband's daily suffering and increasing difficulties, my mother's slow goodbye...life...

I'm in a fucking rut and I hate it. I have so much that I feel like I could be doing. I could be finding a job or writing my screenplay or something but instead I just take depression naps. Even my dreams are starting to get stressful. Every other dream is about a test that I have to take that is daunting. I hate taking them. The latest was on King Kong Island and my friend, Fae, and I had to take on caring for children after taking Ernest and Son's Green Busses out into the ocean to try to get them to the next island before King Kong Island burned down. It was an amusement park island and the kids were all children of the staff. Before that, my partner had bestowed upon me a shadow necklace so I could have him there whenever I missed him. It was a really nice gift.

Let's see what other dreams did I have? I had the one with my cousin coming into a job agency I worked at. She's my older cousin and I haven't seen her since I was sixteen. She called me high once and I prefer to not remember it. I know she needed me but I was so upset she had th audacity to call me when high. I mean, I'm sure she wouldn;t have done so if she didn't need help. She didn't even ask me for money. I think she was just in a bad ordeal and needed help. I haven't talked to her since but she comes in my dreams every once in awhile.

What else happens up there? There's a school that's like a huge mall. I don't think I can keep going for another nine minutes honestly. I am getting tired as we speak. O did an interview today and except for having no idea what software they use, I think it went pretty well. I didn't do much dazzling though. You always know when someone is intrigued by you when you talk to them and they never shut up. At least that's what happens to me. People pick a few little things I say then I can pick up on what htey say and then we've got a conversation going. But, this time it was awkward. There were paises. I don't know what to make of it honestly. I;m about to go to the grocery store so I guess I'll fill out one of their applications. Kroger is always hiring.

I used to dream about getting a big break when this whole joblessness thing started. I would work from home. I would make more than I've ever seen before. A salary. Benefits. Pet insurance. I would get a pet turtle named Biff to celebrate. He would fart and shit out of his tail and stink up my room. It was the dream. I still have eggs in baskets. There's a speechwriting job that I had my hopes up for. I don't know why I don't tether those little bastards. Hopes and dreams are for losers, I'm starting to think. It makes me feel bad to be such a cynic but honestly, I really do feel that way. So long as I don't forget my pen, I'll make sure I sign up to work at Kroger. I could work in the deli. I could be the guy who keeps Rob from losing his finger when he slices it off after we're talking about my dreams and he gets so enamored with my brain that he loses his head... well, pinky, to the meat cutter.

What is that thing called. Will I be like the black lady in that meme where the woman hops over the counter and she's like unless your name is Salami, you shouldn't be back here and the woman's like I'm hiding from my ex, and the Black lady decides the woman can stay? I like that gif but I never was destined to be that woman. I mean, if people want to sit up straight and look both ways and cross their T's and dot their I's, that's fine by me but I'm a slouching writer who sleeps too much and dreams even more. I like to have my head in the clouds which is probably why I'm feeling the brunt of this hiring freeze. I think I'm doing okay but honestly I couldn't be sure either way. I have money, just a bit. Enough to enjoy the casino tomorrow with my mom and my grandmother and anyone else that comes. I just wish I was in a better position in life, you know?

What the fuck was I doing here? Living on the side of a highway on borrowed land on another man's land was there a better life? There must be somewhere pushed from pillar to post all my life so many houses to live in so many lives lived who was I back then?

A lover a fighter and adventurer a poet a painter a seeker.

What am I now? a writer a son the good son? Always the good son.

How would we end up? Us so fragile and broken yet searching for peace and light.

Was the fight over? No not in this life not in this world not ever.

As long as you give it a go give it a shot be true that was what mattered.

Pass fail not the point as long as you tried.

It felt like sound itself was leaking out of my ears. I imagined it like mist. Hissing away as I stared at the ceiling that felt closer than it was. Hanging chandeliers above me like taunting me with its riches.

Was it possible to lose this much?

My hands tingled while they shook.

Brokenly, I let my head anchor down, letting my line of sight hit the ground and tremble around all the friends littered there. A fancy dance floor of ebony creased with gold in that Japanese way where destruction was held together with beauty. Where history was carved into their craft instead of discarded.

I almost laughed. But my chest clung on to a sob.

The history of my friends were pouring out of their bodies. But why? I was no new customer to misfortune but this... why? The one time-- the one time I tried to make amends to all of them, all the wrongs I did them. They'd barely forgave me, barely wanted to trust my invitation to this place where pasts were supposed to be forgotten, or so I believed.

But these hands didn't lie.

They abused reality, and distorted my life with supernatural things that could not be understood but, unlike me, they didn't lie...

These powers were real. Destructive and unforgiving and tear---

[Timer went off there^]

[But I'll illegally continue here:]

---ing even parties apart. What was left of my life to tear apart?

I cried out. Loud and hysterical and on the border between a laugh and a cry but who could hear me with my sound spilling out of my ears and buildings quaking apart at the sight of my fists. And histories. Entire histories, rich with their untold stories and verdicts of forgiveness, shattering before I ever got the chance to hear my own: 'I'm sorry'.

Two weeks ago, I finished my master's degree in business and I have yet to celebrate or acknowledgement my accomplishment. I feel happy about it, but yet I don't feel proud or even like I've done something grand. And I don't say this in a way to downplay myself, but I honestly thought I would feel more excited. Eight years ago, when I finished my bachelors I was estatic and I defitnely felt it. I mean EVERYTHING changed after my undergrad. I moved off campus, my family came up to celebrate and watch me walk. I started a new job. Life moved forward.

However, two weeks ago, nothing changed. I make the same amount of money, I work the same jo . Even the other day, my VP told me congrats and I responded "congrats for what?" As if everyone knew I finished, but me. I'm not sure what I'm suppose to be feeling or if this sort of numbness or lack of excitement is normal, but its strange.

Overall, I just feel really "light". The moment I got my final grade I felt so relaxed. It was like I finally had piece. My friends wanted to go out and celebrate my parents are super proud, but me I just wanted to finally be able to open my laptop and not have to worry about school work. It feels like the end of a long chore. That's it. I feel like I just cleaned my apartment and I'm satisfied, but there's no reason to throw a party.

As you can tell, I'm not the biggest fan of school. My approach has always been to pass my course with a B or better, rather than learn the material. Only a select few of us elite slackers and underachievers know what I mean by that. I more of a problem solver than a student. After roughly 3 years of school I had forgotten what it felt like to have nothing waying over me. What it was like to be carefree and have nothing weighing me down. It felt.. boring. I've always had this feeling of " there is something I'm suppose to be doing" And even the act of procrastinating those responsibilities was more exciting than having absolutely nothing to do.

So yeah, thats it. I've finished grad school, nothing has really changed and I'm bored and writing my thoughts out to my hearts content. For breakfast I had a 3 egg omlete with sautted white mushrooms, sweet peppers, red onions, and tomatoes with mild cheddar cheese.

This was the thought process I muddled through when composing my entry for @Mariah’s “With the coming of spring…” challenge. I didn’t set a timer so I can’t definitively say it was completed within 15 minutes, but once I got started, it was close.

I dictated snippets on my phone in Notes while walking this morning. Initially, I was inspired by the neighborhood daffodils in bloom in lawns with full sun exposure while those in my garden are just starting to break the surface of the ground.

I hadn’t planned on multitasking during my a.m. stroll, but ended up doing so. Had to walk while nonsensically rambling into my phone and keeping track of syllables for the haiku by repeatedly extending the fingers of my left hand. So, I’m that weird, old guy who appears to be aimlessly roaming the alleys, speaking in choppy sentences and having seemingly uncontrollable tremors in one hand.

Here’s the original draft:

The daffodils show their hide and seek

Reveal

Daffodil

After playing hide and seek

All winter

The game started last fall

After winning last year’s game

Of hide and go seek

Daffodils emerge

After winning last fall game

To win yet another game

To win last fall game

To claim victory

Oh, there, you are

To win hide and seek

Daffodils emerge

To win the hide and seek game

started last fall

Here’s the final haiku that I was happy with:

Daffodils emerge

to win the Hide-and-Seek game

they started last fall

And here’s what I submitted to satisfy that pesky 15 word limit qualifier:

Daffodils pop up

to win the Hide And Seek game

they’ve been in since fall.

The wind was blowing through the trees. Hard and brutal with the force of winter’s chill. I walked slowly along the path, remaining unfocused as to my eventual destination. My mind wandered recklessly with a multitude of fears, concerns, and other rambling thoughts. My body did not register the frigid temperatures or the rocky path upon which I stumbled.

When had it all be3gun? I did not know, but I did know I was not sure I could go on feeling like I did. I was ready for it all to end – no matter the cost. My heart beat rapidly inside my chest with each step I took, my face flushed and chapped by the wind - each seemingly symbolic of the turmoil that raged inside.

Danielle had been my closest friend – my ally and my confidant. She had stuck by me through thick and thin, through years of teenage angst, college and its learning curve, early adult years, and impending middle age, but now things were different. How had she changed in the blink of an eye? How had she betrayed me so unexpectedly and so viscuously? I would never be able to understand, never be able to quell the ache in my heart. If was as if she’d killed two birds with one stone when she chose to sleep with David.

David had never been much of a husband or father in the years I’d been with him, so his betrayal and lack of dedication didn’t actually surprise me. But Danielle? Well, that was another story. I’d thought no one could live up to her commitment or friendship, but I’d been so very wrong. She was a chameleon and worse than any traitor in an6y war. She’d not only betrayed me in each and every way, she had also broken my heart and ability to ever be able to trust another human being again. She did not deserve to continue her horrible antics. No, she did not deserve the gift of love……or worse yet, she did not deserve the gift of living.

The abrupt thought gave me pause and I stumbled on the rocky path. I stopped, my thoughts a whirlwind of anger, hurt, and possibilities. What the hell kind of thought had just entered my thought process? How could uI, an average and meek woman of forty-two years, even contemplate just a brutal thing as my best friend’s murder? I shook my head, aghast at my own train of thoughts, but then a smile, as cruel and as evil as Danielle took root and filled my visage.

Disclaimer: NOT based on actual fact or experiences. 15 minutes of pure fiction.

Going on ao3 and looking at the other White Lotus fanfics was a mistake. I shouldn’t have but I’ve been devoid of inspiration and thought maybe other people’s work might inspire me but they didn;t they just make me feel like shit because I don’t want my brother carnally I don’t want to kiss him I don’t want to be this disgusting freak who can’t even be presented in a show where one character is obviously a sexual predator because he’s hot so everyone loves to pretend his siblings would want him back. That’s not how incest works, that;s not how it works that’s just how people like to pretend because it’s fiction; nothing like that ever happens in real life. I’ve been avoiding my brother for months now but nothing like that ever happens in real life. It’s not something we’re allowed to talk about so I thought maybe I could write about it but what;s the point when people will just bookmark my fic alongside multiple smut fics what’s the point if no one will understand? Nobody should understand; I don’t want to be understood. It’s good that incest is seen as so obviously fictional people can write about siblings like they’re romantic comedy leads. That’s a positive, a net benefit to the world unlike me. All I do is complain at ChatGPT about my brother and how scared of him I am and how I hate myself for it. There’s six minutes left of the timer. I don’t know what to write without writing too much or incoherent blabber like I don’t want this I don’t want this I don’t want him I don’t want to be this scared all of the time I don’t want to be supporting a goddamn AI but nobody else would want to hear about this shit it’s disgusting I’m disgusting and I have four minutes left on the timer. I had three chocolate chip toaster waffles for breakfast I’m probably going to have leftover tortellini for lunch and then buy overpriced chocolate on my way to work like I can eat my feelings out of me like if I consume enough garbage maybe the fear will be excreted alongside it idk why I’m writing this I don’t know why I’m going to fucking post it when I looked at the other entries and they don’t seem to actually be stream of consciousness. Two minutes left and I didn’t even break this into paragraphs nobody should read this but people will and then I’ll get prose emails informing me someone liked it and then I’ll probably regret life entirely. I could theoretically set another timer and try again not sharing too much about my disgusting life but time’s up