Semi-Daily Scribbles

Carving out a corner to post random crap.

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  • Dead. Lines.

    Dead. Lines.

    Ralph, the guy in the cubicle next to me, is talking to a demon. I’m 94% sure it’s a demon, anyway. Next-level fucking creepy.

    So, let me set the stage:

    I’m sitting here at work, scrambling to get this stupid spreadsheet to add up so I can report out on the status of how many thingumabobs are left to receive to close out the Intrepid Project in about, oh, I’d say 7 minutes. And then I hear it. Ralph starts speaking in a hushed voice, only it’s not his voice. The sound coming out of his mouth is a raspy, guttural stage-whispered “I don’t know.” Don’t know what? And who/what is it that wants to know? And once Ralph decides to answer the question posited by this satanic overlord / boss / puppet master of his eternal soul, what other bidding will Ralph be commanded to carry out? Like maybe as it might pertain to the health and safety of certain cubicle mates, and in particular…me? Bad enough Corporate America is rife with hypocrisy and questionable business practices, but are there now no guardrails to keep us safe from Inter-Dimensional Dark Forces intent on enslaving the soul of this here gal that just really needs to pay off her student loans? Hopefully before she hits retirement age?

  • Familiar

  • A White, Hot Mess

    You showed up late but in time for me to know the wait is over. No need to move White Hot Mess_editslower. We've been running after each other through different timelines. What a crime. No surprise that we'd have never made it to see another sunrise had it not been for the signs. An early grave. No one saved until you and I realized we are:

    2 Souls
    1 Heart

    A million different paths that'd bring us to this moment in time.
    So clearly defined.

    We can stop chasing after what has always been mine. Your heart. My remedy. Our souls entwined in perpetuity.

  • Love Language

    Choose Your Poison IIHow are you navigating the world right now? How did you process the world in which you reside before The Great Dismality? This realm in which we find ourselves has always been all rough edges with cruelty to spare. And beauty beyond compare. It still is, and that fact either brings you comfort or despair. I'm having to move through these troubling times with an even more determined step; a path that feels natural and right and not at all the path my neighbor may be traversing. Do we really have more in common with each other? Or have we swallowed the fairy tale, all the while choking on sentiments we have yet to reconcile? The only thing that feels normal right now is the ever present specter of what greets us when all the lights gutter and diminish.

  • The Takeaway

  • Interpretive

    237berry
    Reality is a cheat

     

  • Badgered

    Extra BadgeDirk wandered into a fever dream disguised as an office cubicle. He'd just been assigned a post at a very important firm that made magic by counting numbers. He slid into an available stall and waited for work to flow in. Nervous thoughts pinged and boinged throughout his racing brain. A swath of perspiration that originated in his arm pits spread to the front of his baby blue button down chambray shirt. The boss lady said to Dirk "add up the columns" and "make the figures make sense." After a quick calculation, he couldn't get the centum to square up. He was now carrying a deficit on Day 1 and knew it to be grounds for termination. At prior engagements he had witnessed such horrors befall colleagues and refused to believe he'd be kicked out of the clan before lunch. Dirk missed the portends. He'd undervalued the projection. He envisioned his mother tossing his belongings into the street. He hearkened back to high school when he didn't make swing choir and nobody ever told him the reason why. Now, just like then, Dirk had presented an unsatisfactory performance that would forever be a mysterious blight on his ability to see/hear/feel the same vibrations as the rest of humanity.

  • A Space for the Aged

    A Girl and Her Dog…and now a word about Substack. I'm an oldster who misses the MySpace and Tumblr era. Creative, fun hangouts where the cool kids held court. I don't recall ever having to dodge freak-a-zoids on those early social media platforms. Substack, however, is a different beast. I've only been an active "Content Creator" for a month, although I've had the Substack app on my phone for a while since I enjoy reading the works of a few of my favorite journalists and novelists. Still do, by the way. But no one DM'd me on MySpace to convey the message: "You have pretty eyes. I want to fuck you." How could a bookish nerd like me resist engaging with this gem of a human in meaningful literary discourse? It does appear, however, the creeps seem to be outnumbered by talented, smart, funny and kind writers with whom I've had great conversations. I've even summoned the courage to post a bit of my poetry which has generated a few Likes and comments. I'll stick with this Substack thing until the article reading, story sharing and pleasant chit chat is overrun by asshats.

  • When Detachment Is The Goal

    Well RedLament the idol rider
    Memories arise while one
    Browses the aisles
    A roadside gift shop
    Search for the perfect
    Piece of Identity
    Dark hair
    Dark eyes
    Scent of sage and chocolate
    Strong Arms
    Wind blew in through
    The Cracks
    We looked upon
    Rolling Hills
    Jade Forests
    Through grease-smeared glass
    And Paradise resides
    Beyond the Next
    Blind Curve

    Keep Scratching
    Keep Detaching
    You'll Strike A Nerve
    Someday

  • Dinner Party