Naming it and claiming it.
16,449 words

Day 56: Glut

Tired is as tired does. Finished mowing. Incredibly hot and humid.

I remember a time when you never mowed on Sunday because it was truly the Lord's day, the sabbath, a day of rest. I don't recall anybody ever mowing on Sunday till maybe I was in my late 20's? That would be the late 70's. But even then I don't recall.

Broke down. Had to have something sweet. Very rarely do I have anything sweet. Hopped in the car and drove 8 miles to get a .99 cent dipped coin at McDonald's. I got some sugar. And a facsimile of ice cream. Was it worth the drive? In a word, no. But it's a lesson well learned. No offense McDonald's, but up your profit by upping your ice cream game.
Thank me later with stock options.

On the bright side I made awesome hamburger patties tonight. So good, somebody would pay good money for one. I love it when an experiment's result is a broad smile and taste buds that crave more. Feed me! Feed me!

Mouth problems are a pain. (Specifically dentures.)

(Yes. I have dentures. It's a shame thing. Shh.)

Did I mention I also walked 6 miles today? I'm a glutton for punishment.

My life.

More later. Hopefully, there's always more later.

Day 55: Finishing

The day was mowing.

And more mowing.

Mowing an acre and a tenth.

Got about 3/4 done.

With a self-propelled push mower.

Will finish tomorrow.

Ate tacos.

Is it possible I'm tired of tacos?

I know I'm sick when I'm tired of tacos.

They don't taste as good.

Like most of what I eat anymore.

A week and about 3 or 4 days till Arizona and Vegas.

Can't wait.

Anything to escape.

Have you escaped recently?

And to finish...

this post was to hit 55.

Do you feel used?

Well, I'm sorry.

Join the club.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 54: Scattered

"By Midnight"

I want to breathe
and know it's me.

I want to thrive
because I decide.

I want to expand
and understand.

I want to say
this was the day

I went to sleep
and knew what to keep.



Why do we attach the term "passed away" to someone who killed themselves; also known as suicide? It was their choice was it not? Even if they made it under the weight of mental illness, or stress, or depression, or addiction, the manner and means and cause by which they died was not the normal way or the human experienced way. If someone dies in a car wreck we don't say they passed away. If someone is murdered we don't say they passed away. If someone drowns we don't say they passed away. What makes suicide the word that is more and more being silenced? It is a cause of death is it not?

I would like the three last words of Jesus to be the universal pronouncement of death..."It is finished."

Is anybody paying attention? We will soon be at the point of no return...

Day 53: What?

What the heck did the title of yesterday's post have to do with anything? I don't know what I was thinking. But what I am thinking of tonight many people in this country have come to the point that they can say that they are ashamed to be called an American?

I'm too tired to write much more.

So let me close by writing a poem...


When you care, cry.
When you've lived, die.

Where there's night, sigh.
If you dare, fly.


More later. I'm hoping there's always more later.

Day 52: Having A Chance

Looks like I'm barely going to get in Day 52. Nothing profound here. Never was.

Watching something about aliens in Antarctica. Ice is up to three miles thick in Antarctica. Don't worry. We'll get that melted in short order.

I sat today outside of a Walmart in Corinth Mississippi. I sat. And I sat. Thinking twice. I went in. But I do know now where to hit the floor. And the door.

Life goes on, some people will say. Of course today some people don't have a chance to even consider it.

Have a nice day America.

More later. There's always more later.

Until there isn't.

Day 51: Un-titled

Speak less to yourself and what you think you want to hear. You are speaking into a vacuum if you are not already doing what you are telling yourself to do.

A resting position is a place where the mind maintains itself on life-support.

The quiet morning. All mornings should be as quiet as possible. Being awake and being startled awake give two different responses. If you start out with a scream after being startled from your sleep, you spend the rest of the day recovering. Don't let yourself jump out of your skin. Motion the day to come slowly in.

Superficial. I pray to god that that's not a word that would ever be applied to me. But it's also a descriptive word that's not used nearly enough. There are lots of words that have fallen out of favor. Maybe it's because words, the oral speech, has become superficial in and of itself. We now use fingers to punch keyboards in the chest to make our point. But still, nobody is listening but to themselves.

The quiet morning. So quiet. Please keep on point for the day.

By the way, this is what I call freestyle, or freeform.

I have reached the point where the actual consuming of food holds less interest than the figuring out of what to consume. Then after all that work nothing really tastes good anymore. Or at least how I wanted it to taste.

Manifesto. Now that's a word that should fall out of favor. Doesn't even sound good does it?

Can't think of a word to title this note. I like that word better than post. Note. Noted. Is no title a title in and of itself? Dang. Why can't I think of a title? A descriptive word? My quiet is becoming disrupted by my frustration.

Okay. There it is. Un-titled. See what I did there? Didn't think so. I don't either.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 50: Halfway

Halfway to the 100 days of writing. There's no time to rest.

Walked 10 miles today. Just like yesterday. It seems that today and yesterday should be the only days that count. And that they are. Aren't they? And yesterday should be looked on as a second cousin to tomorrow.

Walking is my soul. I want to be at the point of walking as long and as far as my spirit moves me. Walking is my meditation. It is my mantra. I need it to make its mark on my body. To put it and my mind under its control.

I have noticed after these recent shootings that nobody says like they used to, "Did you hear about this? Have you seen that? Isn't it awful? It breaks my heart! What is happening to us?!" It has lost its affect. We are a desensitized culture now. We are the culture of death. Our president has trained half the population to worship at his altar. The altar of a despot. And he accepts their sacrifices. They are justified by being washed in the blood. Aren't we all complicit in the slaughter?

Why don't we use the word slaughter more often?

According to this website...

there have been 128 deaths in what they term mass shootings since I started this 100 day challenge. I'm betting even money that that number will not be any less, if anything, by the time I finish this challenge.

More later. I hope there's always more later. Beginning to wonder.

Day 49: Myself

A walker will walk. The walker will walk. I walk.

I love meditative music.

Dreams are real. Hope is real. They are means to an end.

This is a day of activity. This is a day of inactivity. Ying and yang.

“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.” ...The Buddha

I could say a lot of things about the recent mass shootings. But saying anything is empty. Doing something fills the void.
The void of feelings is a deep darkness. We must fill it.

I will live as it is. I will live as I am. I will walk, love, dream, hope, and do.



Let me make myself
perfectly clear.

I take a good look
and see the need to be
living quietly.

I have much to learn
about mirrors.


More later. There's always more later.

Day 48: Dream Ahead

Slept late again. Feels good. Refreshed. Brain fog diminished. Lots of dreaming. A good dream. Bad dream I do. Back at the home I grew up in. Weedeating. Feels like I've been living there. Lights turned on. Early evening. But there's a yellowish tint. Inside and outside. Then I noticed the holes in vinyl siding, just on one side of the house, that I must have put there in my weedeating. But now that I remember a lot of the holes were way above where I had weedeated against the house. More to the dream. People next door. A talk with a man who appeared from across the street. Found a fifty and a five dollar bill on the front steps. No need to remember. Unless there's a deep meaning to it all.

Beautiful sky and sun this morning. One of those mornings that's clear and hopeful and fills you.

A reminder to me..."If you simply transcribe what your mind is thinking, then there's no way you fail this challenge. Have you ever observed your mind not chatting incessantly? It's impossible. It just goes on and on, for better or worse. Your job is to simply sample a small timeline of those thoughts onto paper. You're not doing any work here other than transcribing the thoughts that naturally flow through your mind onto paper."

Why did I ever buy a Toddy for cold brew? Glorified glass pitcher. You could use a mason jar. Waste of money. Dunkin Donuts packets are the best.

Will check-in today on somebody in the hospital. Will continue mowing. Will try to stay hydrated. Will try. Will try not to deny. Sounds like a to-do list. Made my bed. Always the first to-do. The best to-do each day.

Would love to time travel. Would love to astral project. I talk as if it's been done. When I was a kid that stuff fascinated me. I dreamed it as part of my daylight dreams. I loved living in that world. A good world.

Reincarnation. Just had to write the word. Reincarnation.

Time for more coffee. Time to enjoy the bliss in the brain. The soft mood of the mind. The small portion that I need to grow. Been a rough month. But there's light at the end of the tunnel. I even see the long walks beginning again. I even see close to normal. Was that a movie? Everything's repeated anyway. Nothing is original. Don't fool yourself. You aren't the universe. You can't make something out of nothing. Even your dreams don't originate with you. You're just the host.

Freestyle. Freeform. I like those words.

More later. There's always more later...

Day 47: Climb


Climb the black
From the bottom
Search for sky

Practice reaching
And forgetting
The fall

Always scream
When dreaming
And slipping

Grasp the ledge
To avenge
Heavy breathing

Some poems don't make sense. But as long as they are nonsensical to me they're worth it.

Sleep is good while suffering. A deep long sleep is even better. I slept good and late this morning. First time in a long time. Mind fog hopefully will break. I will keep moving, climbing, today.

I am so ready to claim a new point. Nothing matters if you don't take care of the matter at hand. The matter at hand is to replace the place.

From experience, a lot of times to heal from the dark "D", sitting and riding out the storm is better than trying to fight back when you have no strength.

My daughter said, "Don't do anything if you don't have to."
I love that. I love her. Think about it. It's so profound.

More later. There's always more later. (Until there isn't.)

Day 46: Still still

Let's freestyle...

Worst store-bought cole slaw. Walmart's. Had it with my chicken livers that I fried last night. Livers were great. More onion is the secret.

There should be a law against whipped cream cheese.

Still lightheaded. Still grieving. My two other boys (cats) are too. Seriously. They are. I know.

I would like to get back to how I wrote starting this 100 day challenge originally. It felt real.

There was somebody who posted on List that must have stopped. I miss her. Can't remember her title. She was raw and honest. Please come back.

I'm still feeling so separated from the world. It has gotten worse this past six months. Maybe close to a year.

Went to two Mexican groceries in Jackson. Neither one had El Milagro shells. They are always out. Seems to me that you would buy more product when you have the demand for it. Seems to me that's the way you make money.

Speaking of which, the smell of a Mexican grocery/restaurant is one of my favorite smells in the world.

I want ice cream so bad. But I don't want the 25 carbs in a serving. About a cup.

I think the government should start issuing bullet-proof vests for everyone. They're certainly not going to ban assault rifles. I mean, it would make it a harder sport. Killing innocents.

It's all I got. I do better writing in the morning. Great advice...

More later. There's always more later.

(Still grieving.)

Day 45: Still

My world is lonely today.

Lonely wrapped in a heartache.

The decision was made yesterday and Snugglepuss agreed.

With his old body of flesh and bones and his head buried in the crook of my arm he purred and sang the song of goodbye, and let me know that his life had been enough.

Our life together needed to become a memory.

I cried.

I cried harder.

And then we made the drive to an office that held the elixir of death.

I stayed with him as slowly the needle and its contents showed how simple it was to end life.

The hardest part was for me to let him go.

I have had a cat die. I have had another one put to sleep.

But Snugglepuss was different.

I am not ashamed to say that he was the best companion I've ever had.

And if I have a regret, it's that I feel that I never gave him more than he gave me.

I'm still here Snuggles.

And you are too.

Day 44: Opening The Door

I'm afraid of opening the door to my deck this morning. No, not afraid, I don't know what the word would be. I'm hoping that Snugglepuss has given up the ghost, so to speak. It would absolve me of making the decision.

I'm emotionally ragged. For those such as me, emotions are like pure bleach. At full strength they eat away at our presence or place in the world. Not that we ever had a place.
Empathetic depressives exist in the world. They don't really live in it. We are on the outside looking in. Never quite understanding how others calmly go about taking a breath and smiling each day.

Well, enough of the deep maudlin. Let's get real.

My head feels less "crazy" this morning. I took magnesium last night, which I had forgotten to take for 2 or 3 nights. Helps the sleep. And I also doubled my 5-htp. I've been taking that for many years. Again for sleep. And it possibly helps with my mood. No. I know it does.

Lately my posts are more and more personal. I know. Well, after all it is sorta like my journal. And I choose to let it be out there.

I guess I've had enough coffee.

Time to open the door...

More later. There's always more later.

Day 43: Whimper

We're just waiting on death here. My best friend, my cat Snugglepuss, has been holding on. I'd like to think he doesn't want to leave me. Each day becomes a little slower. Is he in pain? I don't believe so. Of course he can't tell me. He's still eating good and drinking. Even can still jump up on the couch. But the funny thing is, I want him to die. I want him to die at home. I don't want to carry him to the vet and have him put to sleep. I feel like the executioner then. But I will not let him hurt. His comfort will overrule my selfishness. His day will be filled with my love and care.

When you are a depressive and live alone, well, an animal feels like all you've got. They are your companion. They are the only solace you have against the dark demons.

But in a strange sense they are also the reminder that in the final analysis we only live to die. There are no infinite breaths. There are no days of expecting that the best is yet to come. We begin and end with a whimper. Go ahead and shout and laugh and be as positive as you want about your life. It all ends with a whimper. And tears.

More later...

Day 42: Mental Morning

The non-drinking morning hangover is a little less heavy this morning than usual. May be a sign the "mental fever" is breaking. Hope so.

Is there any good reason at all to read Twitter? Let's face it. It's like a group of children jumping up and down with their hands in the air screaming "Choose me! Please! Choose me!"

I do the same. And admit it. You do too.

Our witty repartee is so special. Yeah right.

Speaking of which, there is no good reason for you to be reading this. I'm not writing the great American novel.

Speaking of American, who here truly feels "American"?

We are now tribes without a country.

Are you still trying to convince yourself that cold-brewed coffee, hot or cold, is way so much better than a fresh-brewed mug of Dollar General Toastmaster 5-cup drip of Walmart Columbian coffee?


Afraid you're going to look like you're "not with it."

We are all lemmings.

Why do I use so many commas and quotation marks?

I hated grammar and punctuation in school.

Loved spelling though. Loved English class.

I feel like I'm a poem with no words to use to describe.

A page without print. A pen with no ink.

A wound with no salve to use.

And what is it with my asterisks? Why can't I just ramble?

It's like I want to accentuate my profundity.

(Told ya. I loved English class.)

(And parentheses.)

Yes. I am addicted To Klondike Solitaire. Especially at the Grandmaster level. It takes only one move that you should have or shouldn't have made, that loses the game.

Sounds like life.

But some are dealt the losing hand to begin with. Be honest. You know that's true.

Some are not given a winning hand.

It's a lie that everyone can be a winner.

God is the Joker in the deck isn't he?

Take out the Jokers before you begin the game. No good game includes Jokers.

See? Now you stand a better chance at winning.

That's why solitaire has no Jokers. You would have even worse odds at winning with a Joker in the deck.

It's just you against the deck.

And about a 10% percent chance of winning.

That is, if you play your cards right.

And even if you do make the right moves don't count on winning the game.

It's all chance. The odds are against you.

More later...

(There's always more later.)

Day 41: Later

10:37. Saturday night. Light-headed. I believe I've had too much sun this summer. Haven't felt good for 2 to 3 weeks.

Of course your mental state also manifests physically. I'm going with the multiple factors cause.

My daughter said today that I needed to take care of my health. That I need to back off of doing things all the time for others and do some self-care. I do know that I need to shake this. Been down, physically and mentally, for too long.

So I did next to nothing today. May be more of the same tomorrow.

I know this post is more of a diary. It's the best I can do.

More later. There's always more later.

Day 40: Rough

Yes. Yesterday was rough. Could you tell? I was in fine form. But that's me. I don't know how to smooth my rough edges. Or at the very least I don't know where the line is.

Still, in this day and edge, I don't think we as a society have a line. We are told to be ourselves. I was. We are told to be authentic. I was. We are told to be or do many things. I did.

I can't take any of it back. I could delete it. But I won't.

I am a depressive. In case you were wondering. I don't just have depression or episodic depression or situational depression. I am to my very core, depressed.

This very morning my depression is manifested in an obsessive anxious panic. This has lasted about two weeks. It has been very severe. Like diarrheic severe. Every little thing is a major life defeating event. Mowing a yard is nightmarish because of my perceived mistakes. A haircut's results has brought me to near tears. The expectation of losing or having to put to sleep my best friend, my cat Snugglepuss, is devastating. And so many other things...they kill me. Bit by bit. They kill me. The me that I will never know.

But on the bright side, if there is one, I have accomplished 40 days in the wilderness of writing. Albeit, I am more than upset that I wasn't able to accomplish 40 days in a row.

I'll stop now. For the moment.

More later...

Day 39: And God Is One Too

A hoax.

If I never hear the word "hoax" again, it won't be soon enough.

It's all a hoax anyway. The I and T. Apostrophe. S. And me.
And you. Hoaxed out of body. Hoaxed out of mind. The absurdity of it all. The absurdity of the universe. The absurdity of the universe having a "God". The absurdity of believing in something called a soul that breathes.

Then death.

Vanity of vanities. As they say.

Do you despair? Truly despair? Within you do you despair that you carry a soul in safekeeping for a creator "God" that detests you so much that you have to beg him for forgiveness?

I don't.

But I do despair because there is truly nothing there.

Thin air.

This morning I'm waiting for the brain to clear up its neurons. Purify, if you will. No rhyme or reason. Maybe coffee will do the cleansing.

Listening to the neighbor's dog. Incessant barking for hours on end. For over 5 years. I reside in a cesspool of a county in the "great" state of Tennessee. They love to abuse animals. They love the letter "K". Especially when it comes in threes. And don't forget the children. Abused upon abused children. But that's par for the course in today's America.

As an addendum, if you really want to abuse children, call them to the screen every time their President of The United States is on. Or read them his tweets. And tell them this is what they can be when they grow up. Tell them that this is what true Christianity looks like. Tell them that Jesus is living within Donald Trump.

Tell them to grab them some p*ssy.

That's what Jesus would do.

Oh wait. Jesus never did? Imagine that.

Wonder where his soul is at?

He never had one you say?

Then neither do I.

Don't have a good morning. There's nothing good, except to a god who's decided what morning or day you are to die.

Remember, "God" created darkness too and saw that it was good.

And he will cast you there when all is said and done, according to plan, unless you bend the knee and whimper for mercy.

Fooled you didn't he?

By the way, that same God is living in Donald Trump's heart. Precious isn't it?

The perfected hoax of hoaxes.

Day 38: It Comes To Mind

Long day. Tired day. That's what it is. Mentally tiring.
It's not a long day because everyday is confined by its length. The last shall be first and the first shall be last syndrome.

I'm feeling it.

My memory is making up its own mind. It's not so much a fading remembrance but a jumpstarted loss of identity. I don't know who I am anymore and I can't remind myself enough.

Let's write a poem. Shall we?...


I had to learn
that whatever I did
for awhile
to keep me here

it didn't.

Will be back later. Will be tomorrow.

Day 37: Or So

Been out of pocket for awhile. My laptop decided to be a bottom-feeder. I cut the line. Back in business somewhat. Received Acer computer on Friday. Yes, it was from Prime Days. Well, I've been receiving support ever since I got it.

The bottom line is the bottom line..

Feel very bad for such a long stream of unpublished days. Yes I know there's an Android app. Pshaw.

Have been eating some carbs. Not happy about it. Neither is my gut. Did you ever notice how sweet Wheat Thins and Ritz Crackers are? I have.

Tonight I've had diced chicken breast and lettuce with roma tomato and Kraft Caesar Dressing. Not bad. Ate too much though.

Not going to tell you anymore about my day. So there.

Christianity is such a farce.

Okay. Got that out of my system.

I'm going to write a poem as I sit here:


is a word I heard
that may make its way
or decay
and have its way

Never the sweet,
only the borrowed.

"Love Island" alternate title: "Whoring Galoring".

It's a start.