the kirkyard


Male. 67. West Tennessee. #100Days

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Day29: Checking It Off.

I almost forgot about writing a post. But here I am.

Helped a friend this morning. Walked six miles. Visited a friend at the nursing home. Joined her in playing bingo. Sang "Long Lonesome Highway". It felt good. Bought a chicken finger dinner from Jack's. That is a place in the South. They include a biscuit. I eat low carb. That did me in. I also have this awful aftertaste. Oh. Also had two beers. Maybe that was it. My cat's in bed with me. He's asking for some extra attention.

I am too.


Day 28: In Order

Suffer the schiz
Unify the polar
Convulse in reality
And only grow older.

Halving the crazies
Grow the words bolder
Memory is death
Ask any soldier.

Love when you sleep
Keep it in a folder
No one believes you
The grave is even colder.

-Gary Kirk

Day 27: As Usual

I made my bed this morning.
As usual.

I walked five miles this morning.
As usual.

I dreamed old dreams.
As usual.

I finished mowing my acre and a tenth yard
With my self-propelled mower.
As usual.

I wondered what I would do for company without my three cats,
Knowing that they would survive without me.
As usual.

I ate tacos for a second night
On the second night of the weekend.
As usual.

I am writing for the 27th day in a row.
At the end of 100 days it may be
As usual.

My days are not so unusual
As usual.

Day 26: And It Was Good

I used to have faith
and reason to grieve,

and pretend that my soul
would be well at the call.

I used to believe
in fulfilling a dream

and Christopher Christ,
who is now my fiend.

But as my mind
took hold of my soul,

it began to settle,
and began to be preened.

It showed me the future
wasn't mine to know

and God didn't create
the first and last scene.

And now I'm blessed
by not knowing all

of where I began

and what it should mean.

-Gary Kirk

Day 25: Noted

Stephen Colbert is close to the lousiest interviewer ever. He should do an opening monologue for an hour. A marathon monologue.

I stopped watching "CBS This Morning", or CTM as they want you to call it now, about a week ago. I'm a better man for it.

Does anybody really believe that almond milk tastes good? And if so, compared to what?

...Oh crap. It's getting close to midnight and I have nothing much to add.

I need to come up with ideas on what to journal or blog. I think I need to make this freestyle journal. I need to type and not think. (Have I said this before?)

Tomorrow will be a new day and I will begin anew. But at least I got a few sentences in. Pitiful sentences at best.
But sentences none the less.

Day 24: Scowl

Just got through watching that documentary about The Jonas Brothers, "Chasing Happiness".

Don't think they've caught it.

Just look at their faces as they are reunited now. Scowls. That's what I see. Scowls. And believe me, I know what a scowl is. I was born with one.

Honestly, if you have seen this movie, did you feel happier at the beginning or the end? See? Told you so. The scowl gave it away.

America and Americans are scowling. Happiness is an artificial construct. People are cramming as much organic and natural into their faces and onto their bodies as they can to remove the scowl.

Doesn't work.

Happiness happens organically.

We, America, and by extension, the Jonases, have become artificial, overly-processed, unnatural.


Day 23: Matters

“In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you.”
— Buddha

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

  • Jesus

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

  • Dylan Thomas

"Silt silent
Buried in the earth.
Creating a memory
That upon my return will be

  • Gary Kirk

I have been reconciling myself with my world for a long time. You see, the world you know is not mine. I can't live there. It doesn't exist for me. My world is the volcano and the earthquake and the tsunami.

But there are points of peace. Not peaks, but islands and isthmus's of solace. Moments that pacify my anguish before I go to battle again.

It is my world. It was meant for me.

I am trying to rage gracefully.

It is so quiet this morning that you can almost hear the end of existence.

I love this gray quieting. It is deep and satisfies the soiled soul.

This is a foretaste of gentle living. I am only allowed glimpses of it. But at least I can recognize it when it presents itself.

Tomorrow, this moment may be replaced with madness.

But I can live with it and within it because it was meant for me.

To burn. To rave. Unrequited. Unsaved.

Day 22: My Pets. My Poem.

There is a black cat on the rug on the floor in front of me.

He belongs to me. Actually I mean he allows me to feed him every opportunity he demands to be fed.

Another cat is outside. He's a contrarian sometimes. Okay. 80% of the time.

(Have you ever noticed that the dollar sign goes in front of the number amount and the percentage sign comes after the numbers? Why is that?)

And my oldest man is waiting for me to get up and go to the kitchen.

He is coming to the end of the last of his nine lives.

I wish the cat-gods, whoever they may be, would give him a tenth life.

Please. Just for me.

I'm selfish that way.

Lastly By Me

I will write a poem
Someday. With my last breath
It will be audible,
But nobody will hear it
As my voice cracks
And crashes across my heart.

Their's will not break
And the auditory blindness
Will not stop them from taking
One step backwards
And turn away from the sound
Of the dirge-ending drama
that has no rhyme or reason.

Mark my words.

Day 21: Sunday Sermon

Why did it surprise anyone that Sarah Huckabee Sanders was and is a liar? Her whole belief system is built upon a lie.

She will attend a church service where it is expected she will hear a sermon delivering more lies that have been told long enough and often enough that the "sheep" of and to this system have shut off their reasoning and inquiry abilities in order to feel "blessed", "chosen", "saved", "called out" and "separated" from what they consider the dredge of the world who will suffer for eternity with punishment in a burning fire dished out by a "loving" God and that the sound of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth of those "goats" will be music to their ears.

Her art of lying has been perfected by a life-long gathering of like liars. How "heavenly".

I do know there is a lot of anger in the past few paragraphs that many people would be incensed by. My anger stems from many things, including the convoluted thinking and rationalization within the American experience of Christianity. If you are offended by these words I don't know whether to apologize or just simply say, "the truth hurts".

On a lighter note, I had a wonderful call on Skype from my daughter, I walked 10 miles, I went and visited some friends, I had 3 tacos that have been made in my family for over 50 years, and it looks like I might be going to bed early for once.

A good day.

End of sermon.

20th Day: Living

Things that keep you alive:

Push-mowing your 1.1 acre yard.

Sitting on a deck on a Tennessee summer evening with your three cats napping away.

Ground beef and riced cauliflower with seasoned brussels sprouts.

Making plans for the future.

Not eating potato chips all day.

Making your bed first thing in the morning.

Knowing that you do not think like Franklin Graham.

Knowing that you like the way Pete Buttigieg thinks.

Birds chirping so loud that you can't hear yourself think.


Oh. And knowing that you have 80 more days to write in the #100Days Writing Challenge.

19th Day

Your cocktail of choice is best drunk just before the sun is setting. And as the sun is setting. And as the sun has set. And after sunrise, while waiting for the sun to set.

God drinks Tequila Sunrises and Rum Sunsets. Naturally.

He's got all of eternity to come up with something better.

He's just waiting for his first failed experiment to die out.

Let me know when he gets to Courvoisier and coke, and what kind of being he forms out of salt-water taffy while on a three day bender.

That should be in about my eighth lifetime.

18th Day: And Night

I'm mentally tired tonight. But didn't want to break the chain. Eighteenth post in 18 days.

We do get some kind of an award for this don't we?

Nowadays recognition is what it's all about.

Egos to be stroked.

Do you think it's because we all are too individualistic to keep it to ourselves?

We are the champions is chomping at the bit.

Fame is the name of the game. Rich and glitz.

Short and sweet. Inspiration in defeat.

A little freeform. The words are dead.

The light goes out. It's time for bed.

17th Day: Wednesday Whatnots

Things I Am Not Doing Today...

  1. I will not turn on the television to watch the morning news.

I do not need noise in my life. And that is all it is. Noise, masquerading as news, pretending to be journalism practiced by journalists, when in actuality it is entertainment presented by personalities to appease us of our prejudices and validate and promote biases.

  1. I will not dream anymore than necessary.

I will only use my dreams to begin the process of attaining a goal. Such as researching. Learning from other people's experiences. Then applying and taking the action, the physical movement, to flesh out and live that dream.

  1. I will not express an opinion if something somebody says upsets me, before I count to 10 and recognize how I feel and the consequences of speaking before thinking.

There. I think three things is a good start. If I am successful at one of them I will consider my day a success.

16th Day: It Calls For A Poem


God was buried alone, by his own hand,
in the dirt.

He started it.

Jesus spit in that dirt
and rubbed it over a blind someone's eyes.

In remembrance.

I wanted to cry.
I couldn't believe it.
I didn't see it coming
with my own eyes.

sucking in their breath.
always praying for death.
left their room in a mess.

They live to defy.
They live to have it all.
They live to give

the last goodbye.

14th Day

I don't want to count the days anymore. It feels like a countdown (which it is) to a finish, rather than a count-up to whatever I'm attempting to do here.

Oh. That's right. I'm trying to write for 100 days.

Day 14. I've always liked that number. I've always liked the number 4. No reason. It just looks good.

I'm eating wrong and too much.

A glass of chardonnay gave me a headache.

Two glasses actually.

Well, maybe three.

I can't remember.

Is that a problem?

The headaches I mean.

Tomorrow I will make my bed after a half cup of coffee.

You should too.

I'm nervous about tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be nervous about tomorrow. I wish tomorrow was over today. And I wish today would change places with yesterday. And yesterday would change places with the day before that, and the day before that, and so on. And when you reach the end of days I guess you could call it the beginning.

So tonight I will wish you a good morning from yesterday,

And if you wish you can say thank you tomorrow.

(When this is posted it will say June 11th. My editor says June 10th. Make of it what you will. The only thing that matters is today is the day that I wrote. And tomorrow will be the day I will write. And all the other days I wrote were the days I wrote one after another toward the challenge.)

13th Day

This is going to be crap. I have to come up with something to fulfill the 13th day.


My favorite poem is Annabel Lee.

My favorite milk is cow's milk.

Not soy or almond or coconut or cashew or oat.

I would rather eat them.

Wait a second... I like to eat cow too.

The first name of some of the greatest songwriters is John... Lennon, Hiatt, Mellencamp.

It's also the first name of notorious criminals..Wilkes Booth, Dillinger, Wayne Gacey.

(Those last two sentences were probably inappropriate being paired like that, don't ya think?)

I don't need a house. All I need is a roof.

I have a picture, maybe it's a print, that's hanging at the end of my hallway, that I will sell for $440 million dollars.

Okay. I did my duty. I feel fulfilled.

12th Day

Have you noticed that suicide has become the new way to be "friended" and to get a "like" and a "thumbs up"?

It's an action that demands a "celebration of life" ceremony anymore.

It's referred to as a "passing" or just a simple the "died".

They are mourned as leaving us too soon.

It is no longer an act of violence against humanity.

It is not something to be prevented.

It is simply the beginning of a person's legacy, especially if you are a celebrity. It is the their future entertainment value or artistry that they would have provide us and that we are being denied.

But we understand. It's just another grand way to take a final bow.

And we applaud you off the stage.

We will provide the encore from here on out.

Eleventh Day

I am so sick from two things this morning. Make that three. Sick and angry. Angry at my cat. Angry at me. And angry at Christianity and Mike Huckabee.

Number one, my oldest cat, poops almost every night in the middle of the floor of the room where his litter box is, instead of going in the litter box. It stinks to high heaven. Wakes me up. Luckily I have laminate floors. Most of the time I have cardboard down in the floor. Then he stops for awhile and I decide not to put cardboard down. Big mistake. But he'll poop on the cardboard too. It just drives me up the wall. I know. He's old. The vet said you never can tell why they start doing that. He may have dementia. I also know he has kidney troubles. What can I do? Leave him outside all the time? He is an inside cat. But this year I have been putting him outside a lot during the day when it's not too hot. I have two other cats that spend most all their time outside and so they are close by him. The problem with doing that is that he has no front claws. The first owners had him declawed. I hate that. I have had about thirteen years and love him to death. I love all three of 'em. They are my family. They are my boys. But Snugglepuss, for the love of God, please stop pooping in the floor!

And on to number two. Get it? Number two?...

Remember my last post? The one about the carbs and the Oreo's cereal? Well after wrote that I went into the kitchen and got that cereal and sat here on the couch and ate it by the handfuls until I was as full as I could be without throwing up. You know that feeling? I am paying for it this morning. Headache. Guilt. Obsessing about that action. Making it into a life or death action and consequence. I didn't go to bed until after one. Then I was awake at 4:30 because of you know who's business. And I hate myself for not putting the cardboard down for an easy cleanup and for getting that box of cereal at Walmart because I had a coupon for a free box. I didn't mention did I that I had already ate two bowls, not one bowl, of the cereal earlier? Well I had. Carbs upon carbs upon carbs. I am obsessing that I instantly became fat. I am obsessing that it was the worst thing in the world to do. I feel so sick. I'm a mess to go along with the cat's mess.

Lastly let me tell you how much I hate Christianity and Mike Huckabee. Read this tweet...

"Must have been an "awkward" moment for Angela Merkel to sit in ceremony as the Allies commemorated D-Day that broke the back of Nazi Germany."

This is what Christians do. This is what Christianity is in its purest form. They love them some WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?), Promise Keepers,and The Moral Majority don't they?

I hate them all. And do I need to repent? Not in the least. Their esteemed role model of the highest personification of that man who lived in Palestine 2000 years ago and brought his death upon his own head by claiming to be his people's God, claiming to be God himself on earth, that man, earthly Lord and Savior Trump, has said he sees no reason to be forgiven, he hasn't done anything wrong. The perfect man.

Huckabee has the same mindset. Most Christians do. They just want us to toe their line. Do as we say, not as we do. It is the most vile form of religion in the world today and has been for 2,000 years.

Did I vent much?

I am stopping here. Maybe I will articulate why I am no longer a "believer", a Christian, at a later time. Let's just say that society would be much better off without the Mike Huckabee's, Franklin Graham's, Falwell's, Dobson's, and Pat Robertson's of the world. I could say I hope they burn in hell but it carries no weight because I don't believe in the hell they believe their loving awesome god is going to send everybody to who doesn't believe like they do.

I am so glad that I don't have to love my enemy, (like the Huckabees and their ilk don't do), and bless them that curse me, (with their pronouncements of how holy they are while judging others).

I want to puke I'm so upset.

But I guess this will have to do for purging.

Cardboard down.

Throw the cereal away.

But still call out those asshole lovers of a person who broke God's laws, those assholes who love crosses used for crucifixion, those assholes who believe in fairy tales as long as it keeps other people under their thumb.


Ten Days

I ate some cereal. Carbs are bad. I ate some cereal.

Jealous yet?

It was delicious. Near ecstasy. Calming.

Sounds drug-induced doesn't it?

It's food folks. I needed food. I wanted soul-satisfying eats.

Better yet, it was free. A free box of carbs! Better yet, it was a free box of Post Oreo O's.

Oh my God. I had forgotten what heaven tasted like. Milk and Oreo's cereal.

I can die happy.

Or live in ketosis hell.

Think I'll sleep on that.

Carbs will do that to you, you know.

Nine Of A Hundred

I'm looking at a poem from the side.

I cannot read it straight on.

It might hurt me.

It might even rhyme.

That would be worse, because then it would truly be a poem.

Poetry should rhyme in order to be good.

There is no good reason not to.

Only life has no rhyme or reason.

That is what poetry is for.

To give your life a reason

to be faced straight on.