the kirkyard

Naming it and claiming it.

Enduring. How Endearing.

Easter. Sunday morning. Neither have any meaning for me. I sit. I drink a second cup of coffee. And now I write.

If anyone has read any of my other posts you can tell the undercurrents of anger, anxiety, and angst. Being bitter is not a good look for most people. Although in the America of today bitter is becoming a by-word.

Now I need to do some catching up. Starting from...

August 22, 2020...

I live to have no opinion about everyone else's opinion.

September 15, 2020...

Ordered a phone off of Amazon last night at 5.

It was at door at 6:45.

What hath God wrought?

September 23, 2020...


there is no future
for those who are enduring


December 7, 2020...

It sounds so bovinian.

Cud it is.

I am milking it
For all it's worth.

Some sit with sundowns
that never rise to the occasion.

No one needs

No one reads
a morning's passage in the rain.

No one should walk into
thunder and expect buttercups.

No one truly wants to empathize.
No one needs to eulogize
you and your say.

A day of poetry got in the way.

-the kirkyard

More later. There's always more later.

Raising The Bar

There is hope. Trump. Toast. Pass the butter.

But I'm also afraid the damage has been done. Could it get worse? Yes. The bar has been lowered.

9 times out of 10 scrutiny screws.

Has there ever been a generation that spends most of their waking hours indoors but worries what the weather is going to be like 10 days from today?

For those of you on a deprivation diet, whether it be keto, paleo, vegan, or vegetarian, (and believe me, I have been a ketour), I raise my bar to you.

Was there ever a better cookie bar? No. The answer is no.

For my mind and body, there is nothing more spiritual than Enya as background to a late Tennessee afternoon with a glass of chardonnay and weather that feels like the early spring. A soul-quieting experience.

I have a poem:


Do not talk to me
about resurrection
before sunset.

I have heard enough
and dreamt enough
devotional dirges
to last me
a lifetime.

  • the kirkyard

More later. There's always more later.

Beginning's Begin Again...

and endings need an end.

Good morning.

I hope the morning and mornings for you don't feel like most mornings do for me. Not good. And not a morning in the metaphysical or poetical sense. For me mornings are when my physical eyes are opened and my body breathes and my mind screams in the silence of a barely noticeable will.


But let's get to some practical matters.

Yes. It's been awhile since I posted anything. It is a kirkyard after all. Get it? Kirkyard. Look it up.

You can smile now.

But back to business.

You will notice that today the days of the #100Days writing challenge is not counted down in the post title and there is no #100Days hashtag, because I have not accomplished, by a long shot, being able to post something each day for 100 days. I wanted to. But my wanted to didn't match up with my can do.

But that is my life.

A life that hasn't and couldn't match up with what living with purpose, and vigor, and hope, and joy, and all those positive and affirming words should entail.

But at least I am consistent.

Regret is the pole that aligns me to my deep sadness. My deep morose. My deep pain. My deep darkness. The king who possesses the throne of depression.

A consistent call that demonizes my days.

Another thing you will notice. I'm losing the asterisks between lines and paragraphs of my thoughts and subjects.

(And a cheer arises.)

Secondly, I am going to be hold myself to being brutally honest. Even if it is hateful, it will be an honest hate. A hate not hidden or parsed. You may not like it. Hell. A lot of times I don't like it. A lot of times I hate the hate. But if love is all we need, we'd all be in a sweet coma. A diabetic tribe of catatonic cattle unable to have their own distinctive moo. And I will moo even if the rest of the world boos at me.

Thirdly. (Oh! A trinity!) I will be calling out Christians and their crutch of the clutched cult of Christianity. It is a topical way of life and belief that I am most familiar with, so I'll add my two cents worth of diatribe. So if you dwell in the land of milk and honey, you may want to avoid crossing the border to the land of bastardly bombast and brimstone.

You will notice that I will jump around a lot. From thought to thought. From topic to topic. It's a mind thing.

Don't mind me.

There will be piss-poor poems. And the occasional good one. Yes, written by me. And if you happened to be pleased, thank me monetarily. In that particular way, I'm easy to please.

So I hope you stay. If even for a day.

Let's carry on. Shall we?

The problem with wanting to be a writer is that you have to write something.

I am pleased that we as a species are giving our lives over to the machines. They are learning fast aren't they? Hopefully someday they will have the reasoning capacity to emote happiness. To emote compassion. To fulfill promises. To even emote for emotion's sake.

We, as flesh and blood entities and personalities, would rather not hear or communicate audibly with our flesh and blood brothers and sisters.

Talk about being ignored within a compassionless mass of cellular automatons.

We do. And we are.


Turn out the lights.

(Oh yes. A lot of what I write may have no rhyme or reason. In that case, it's written for me. See?)

One last thing. I will keep a referring feature. This...

More later. There's always more later.

Day 70: Need Nothing


There are great articles and essays on Elle and Vogue.

Suicides can never be poetic justice.

Why do churches now hold "celebrations of life" for those who commit suicide? I have never seen them hold a celebration of life for those who have survived suicide attempts.

What kind of despicable names would Donald Trump be using on Mr. Rogers?

The boiled custard is out in the stores. God help me.

Have you noticed? No asterisks!

Do I need reiki? Or does reiki need me?


Lonely lasts
as long as
needs bleed.

I have lost so much energy. (There ya go. Your need to know.)

More later. There's always more later.

Day 69: Nothing New

Neapolitan ice cream. Over half of a half gallon. Gone.

The other half is shame and guilt.

I have hit a wall. A lull. A depressed state.

I need lifting. I need pushing. I need the pull forward.

Life should be a lilt. Not something endured, embedded in silt.

Yes. That was a little personal. That's okay. I need to spell it out. Honestly it's only honesty that gets you through.

That's nothing new.

Another sleepless night. Dog barking. But you already know this story. So I'll move on.

Yes. I still love my asterisks. Sets of three. There's something about three's to me. May be based on the Holy Trinity. Which is something I no longer see.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 68.2: Be My (Pay) Pal

I’m going to take a donation of $25,000 from anyone (and everyone) random who retweets this because you feel like being nice to me. (Or at the very least, you enjoy what I'm doing here at https://listed.to/@thekirkyard.) (18+, void where prohibited, never ends)

Donate here: https://listed.to/@thekirkyard/tip

Inspired by:

Blatant aren't I?

Day 68: Enjoy The Show

How To Win At Solitaire: don't play it.

How To Win At Being Solitary: resign yourself.

How To Win At Being: consider it an alternative reality.

How To Win: expect the worst.

My question is: Why did humans have to be commanded in the first place if they had received the knowledge of good and evil from the fruit of the tree in the "Garden"? Are we like dogs and horses and have to be trained to obey commands? To me we are all just a part of that God's put-on dog and pony show.

(Caveat. I am not a Christian believer. Or for that matter, not much of an anything believer. Woof. Woof.)

Inspired by: https://austinkleon.com/2019/10/28/the-ten-commandments/

The best way to celebrate (or mourn) the end of Daylight Savings Time is to drink an extra hour.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 67: I Meant To. Honestly.

Honesty. Honestly.

I feel like I'm losing my mind.
I feel like I'm losing.
I feel.

I'm curious. What is the first priority of living? Or, what is the first priority of your life?

Extreme Christianists would of course answer Jesus to the second question. And if they were being honest, to the first question they would answer...nothing. Why? Because they can't be honest. Their first priority is to be dishonest, because according to their holy scripture, from the beginning, they only answer questions with lies. Why? Because they know they are going to die anyways.


Lie. Like your life depended on it.

Meaningless, meaningless. Everything is meaningless.

The word of the Lord.

I meant to write. Honestly.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 66: It's Time

I'm going to be leaving the house soon. Sun is shining and bright. I need bright. Dark night. Dog barked from two. No relief in sight.

I love my mind at eleven a.m. Between heaven and hell. Oh well. A morning chardonnay is swell.

Did I misunderstand the meaning of life? Could you repeat that? I wasn't making a sleight.


I brought back the asterisk. Between the lines and lonely no more.

Keep score.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 65: No ***

The morning. The coffee. The thoughts.

My Acer laptop has the worst build quality of any laptop I've owned. The case is barely put together. Especially in the front where the ball of my hand rests. Click clack. Click clack, because the lip of the case doesn't even come together even.

Also, the volume level is the lowest I've ever seen. And no fix for it. Should've stuck with Dell. It was the best I have had. Yes I know. They get bad raps too.

The best thing that Donald Trump has done is to reveal what frauds 21st century Christians and their Christianity are. Hopefully this will be its death knell.

I still miss the girl(?) who wrote so honestly on Listed.

I hope I'm starting to pick up the slack.

You could donate (the "Thank" button above") to incentivize me to walk again. I'm not above begging I guess.

Or you could donate to show you appreciate what I'm journaling. I'm still not above begging. It doesn't feel right but at least it would push me to be here every day and to write better. Ya think?

I'm not afraid of death https://thenapkinnotes.com/8829/is-it-reasonable-to-fear-your-own-death because I discarded the notion of a hereafter and the Christian doctrine of hell-fire and brimstone and eternal torment.

Hell I'm more afraid of daily living. I'm sorry. I believe the word is dread. When you're a depressive the word of the day is dread.

I live in a county that over a third of the population lives below the poverty line. I am one of them. But I really don't feel impoverished, if impoverished means not having the latest model car, or an Amazon Echo, or being able to buy as many of the "Daily Deals" on Amazon that you need just to keep up appearances with the Joneses, or paying to have satellite tv to have a shitload of stations that you will never watch, or having the latest top of the line, trendiest kitchen appliances. (Especially like a heavy duty commercial gas stove that you can admire as you go out the door to eat). I may be impoverished according to society, but I couldn't imagine having all of those things and still be empty and unsatisfied and sad.

Still for sale...

Yes I slept with earplugs. You know. Dog barking and all. Tonight the white noise machine will have to be added.

Okay. Time for second cup of coffee. And maybe there will be...

More later. There's always more later.

Day 64: Hell Yells

I want to scream. I need to yell. Next door neighbor's dog has been barking for 6 days straight. This is my 6th year of listening to it. I live in a county that has no noise ordinances, no animal ordinances,hell, practically no ordinances at all. I've probably written about this before but it bears repeating. I truly believe people have been given permission to be complete and utter assholes by the example we have in The White House. And those of us who want to mind our own business and live in peace are not going to be allowed t. Because we will be pushed around and against. We will be disturbed and agitated. We will be schooled in tyrannical measures. We will lose.

I know you're thinking...all this because of a barking dog? Well anyone who has had this same experience will tell you that there's nothing worse than a continuous disturbing of your peace by someone's animal that they don't deserve to own. It gets into your head.

Enough said.

I'm going to get ahead of everyone. The Word of the Year for 2019 will be...fucking. No contest. No fucking contest.

... Yes. I love me some asterisks. F*ckin' A.

If I don't walk, the demons will devour me. They're waiting as I sit. The walker needs to walk because hell yells.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 63: Did Not Forget

Missed a lot of days I know. But it is day 63 of #100days. Just not in a row. So here we go...

Was told by a Christian that they will see me going to hell and they don't want to see that. I'm torn. Become a "believer"in "the ONLY true and living god" so that I will be spared from that loving god's place of prepared eternal fire and brimstone for those who don't give him a like? Or get saved for that Christian's emotional sake? I have tried to be saved probably close to 5 or 6 times. They tell me it only takes once. Think I'll go with their anointed one Donald Trump's theology of no harm, no foul. Problem solved. I'm saved.

I left a stove eye on all night. I didn't get up till 8:30 a.m. Glad it wasn't on full-force. I worry more about the added electricity cost. I am getting more forgetful. I am aging. My mother had Alzheimer's. I worry more.

I'm slow to discover and learn. K-cups or pods are magical. Coffee is great again.

I have been sick all summer and this very day in October. Don't expect to get better soon. Been told its the remains of heatstroke. Could be. It also could be that I'm crazy.

I obsess.

A minority of freethinkers are detested by a majority of closed-minders.

Because you have nothing else that appeals to you like this...Bryan's Bologna dipped in cocktail sauce.

And pair it with this...Salvare. Chardonnay.

It's all okay. And...

More later. There's always more later.

Day 62: Salty

Follow along if you can...

Has your "self" disappeared? Do you correlate your image by standing in line and receiving your instructions about what is expected of you to maintain a semblance of sanity? Are you "you" or an imperfect facsimile of your good intentions?

Fog is perfectly painless. It is plain as day. It is the sky grounded for a breather.

One's body is overblown if you never wrote or sang a song.

Suicides are becoming the salt of the earth. Living is losing its savor.

Blood and blood
Covering it all.
Forensic crucifixion,
Response and call.
One accord,
All to fall.
God and ghost,
angels recalled.
Heaven and earth
Imagine it all.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 61: A Mess

Follow along if you can...

I want to be nice. I want be calm and centered. I want to feel secure.

It's nice work if you can get it.

Are personal biases a bad or good thing? Are opinions reaching the point of no return?

America has been hit with the ugly stick.

All news is breaking news.

No news would be good news.

We are not nice. We are not calm and centered. We are insecure.

When's the last time you've seen or heard these words used before today? "Courage and moral clarity." Hard to remember isn't it?

I had this cassette many years ago. Warren could rock too. Loved him. "The shit has hit the fan!" https://amzn.to/2lbgYjD

Here's a line to a poem I'm working on...

"Who remembers when God was living
and only he could make
a mess of things?"

Neither do I.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 60: Counting Again

I'm back to this. It's been a long hiatus. I had lost the challenge to post something 100 straight days. But I'm still challenging myself to reach the goal of 100 posts. Who knows. Maybe with this post I'm restarting a 100 straight day goal. Will see. Anyways, this is a day 60 post.

I'm dealing with something I've dealt with all of my life. But this time there's a definite different component to it. It's intense. It's intense in the way that I have lost any defense against it. I don't want to dignify it and call it depression. It's beyond that. It's despair. A living despair.

This past summer this drastic change took hold. For quite awhile I didn't know what had happened. Was it allergies? I have had those kick in the past years regularly. When I finally whet to a walk-in clinic, which was only about 5 or 6 weeks ago, the diagnosis was sinusitis. A bad case of it. I got the standard steroidal "cocktail shot" plus prescriptions for an antibiotic and something else I can't recall. There was some relief. But the ever-present and overbearing pressure and heaviness in my head was still there. It has taken control of my everyday movement and thinking and my ability to maintain my daily rites of living.

It has been a battle.

I am urged to return to a doctor. I resist. Because I know my bloodwork is perfect. It was checked at that last visit. And if I describe what is going on to a doctor they will instantly diagnose me as bipolar. Which I am. Or they can diagnose me with schizoaffective disorder. Which I have had. Or they can diagnose me with dysthymia. Which would be true. Major depressive disorder. Check.

And then the trial and error meds start. Which will not work. There has been only one med in my life that has made me feel a normal that I was totally unfamiliar with. And that would be an MAOI. Nardil. Or Parnate. Those worked. But the side affects about killed me. The withdrawal destroyed my ability to concentrate. It left me with severe tinnitus. I cannot read more than a few sentences. I cannot be at peace.

I know this is personal. And once again I will debate about posting this. More than likely I will. Not because it might help someone. Not even because it might help me. It's mainly because what harm is it going to do.

You might be urging me to seek professional help. I understand that completely. But I have a deep distrust of the medical profession because of my past experiences involved as a patient/client within that industry. Some very horrible experiences. I am scared of surrender. And for me that's what it would be. A surrender of my last source of strength, which is my determination to withstand whatever the gods that be have cursed me with. I truly want to believe that I can do this on my own. No matter when the world would say I can't.


That's off my chest.

It's good to type out a few paragraphs.

How about some miscellaneous, and hopefully lighter fare?

I still miss a writer who was using standard notes/listed. She was so honest. And it bugs me to death not knowing the name of her blog or journal. But I am forgetting, or not able to recall, a lot of things now. Oops. I promised lighter. lol

Okay. Here ya go...Oh my god. Another thing to keep my butt flat...https://www.buzzfeed.com/daves4/useful-fun-websites?utm_source=dynamic&utm_campaign=bfsharecopy&sub=0_123290247#123290247

Well hell. I can't be lighter. I'm too tired. And that has nothing to do with being too crazy. So I'll call it right here.

Still, it's good to be back.

And as always...

More later. There's always more later.

Day 59: Embraced

I love the quiet mornings. The last couple of mornings have been that way. This morning in the stillness is the calm. I'm embracing it.

There's a last swallow of coffee in my cup on the arm of my loveseat. It will be refilled. "The Boys" are taking their after-breakfast nap on a chair and on a rug in the floor behind me, letting the morning's soft seeping light fill them through the front storm door.


My body is still working with the medication to heal and make my sinus trouble into a memory. I hope that in the next few days I will have forgotten it.

Even with this morning's meditation, I need to make this day a day of movement. A day of labor. A day of doing and accomplishing. Not just for the healthful activity of being doing, but for the pure doing of it. If that makes sense. Probably not. But it's hard to pull myself away from the deep moment that is flowing over and through me. I want a day of it. But the cup is empty and it needs to be filled. Then I will...

involuntarily end this time with myself. The neighbor dog has started barking for the day. It's funny how quickly your serenity can be destroyed from the outside of you.

I must stay within.

For me.

More later. There's always more later.