Sunday, August 24, 2014


I am no longer interested in the act of lying to myself about my chance of succeeding in the world I live in.  

Yes I would like to sell many copies of all my books.  Yes I'd like to be considered a new Edgar Allen Poe.  I write poetry in every genre.  I write prose fiction.  I write essays about popular culture.  And no one is interested in my views.  To succeed in this world would require me to change who I am.  After a lifetime of being myself at the cost of being popular, I have no choice but to remain true to my being. But now that I've had my epiphany, I have no belief that I will ever be successful.

Is this me complaining, yet again?  No.  I might have wondered why people, friends, family, colleagues, people who collect exactly what I produce, ignore it.  I've wondered why people who love my poetry blog have no interest in the books I have with my poetry in them.  Despite the number of visitors to my blog being high, relatively, I have little to no support from them.  I write for the purpose of expression.  I write to speak in public.  Not everyone succeeds who attempts to do so.  Not everyone who has talent is sanctioned by society with financial success. I do not blame anyone for their choices.  I am not owed a living by society because I have a voice.  Popularity does not equate talent or quality of work.  Popularity does allow those who do have talent to create great works.  Lack of popularity prevents those with talent, but no support, from creating as much as they could.

I do believe that my work is good.  But perhaps I receive the exact amount of support regarding sales, as I deserve. I have only my hope to keep me afloat.  Hope without fruition however burns inside. I get asked if I make money enough to survive as a poet.  No, I do not.  I have spent a lifetime writing, and it is the only thing that I am fulfilled by.  So I do not have any other choice.  I had at one time counted the number of jobs I've taken, and been paid to do.  The number of jobs that I have had and worked was over 30.  The number that made me feel fulfilled was just as a writer.  I am not going to suggest I was a good worker.  While I am not lazy I find mindless tasks to be unbearable.  I find being mocked at work for having been highly educated to be unbearable.  I do not look at uneducated people working the same job as me as being lower than me, but somehow in most every job I was called names, and taunted for not being similar to those I worked next to, in a plant, office, store...

So, I am sorry.  My wife deserves a husband who can do more than love her, care for her son, and do various jobs around the house.  I am a good father.  But I am not a provider, and never have been, regardless of societal, familial and gender based beliefs about the role of a male in a marriage/family.  I have failed to provide.  I do not provide. This is not a list of complaints, but an explanation.  A writer writes. From an early age I knew it was my life destiny to write.  But without success it feels like a curse, more than any blessing. I can't make myself succeed.  All I can do is continue, and hope for the financial compensation to happen.

Here is a collection of the book covers of the works I've have done, alone or with others.

I am always working on my next project.  Some of the projects involve other creative people.  But, whatever is surrounding me, whatever life is showering upon me, I am always working on my next work.  Some people think I am a fool to write instead of "work".  Strangely, I write for more hours per week than many people "work".  I consider my writing to provide a future legacy for my son, and his family.  If it doesn't pay now, that doesn't mean, it won't be of value, monetarily or otherwise, in the future.

If you are reading this and thinking that I am feeling sorry for myself you are wrong.  I am not.  I am feeling wounded by life, in many areas, and surely, I agree, I'd like to make more money.  But what I am feeling is a sense of determination to survive despite the lack of financial oxygen for me to exist.  I do this because I must.

I do not place myself in any position without knowing it, nor without considering the consequences of my actions.  For much of my life I have tried to fit in.  This has met with failure.  I do not fit in.  Life hurts.  I have three brain disorders that make fitting in almost impossible.  I do not blame my lack of success upon that, I do blame them for making my life much more difficult than I'd like.  But I am not in control of those things, and I have taken therapy and medicine to deal with them.  I can do no more regarding that.

I look forward to writing.  That is all I am able to do.  And that is a good thing.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Dreams of a poor man

If I were rich I'd:

Pay Chuck Dixon to write the comic books from the  concepts I have created, because I know he could do much better than me in writing them out.   And pay an artist who he and I both would respect and like to do it, without measuring the total cost, because, as I said, if I were rich it would not matter.

I'd buy a ton of land in Northern Minnesota and build an enormous house, with no neighbors for miles.  It would be the finest house possible to build.  And I'd have many cats to accompany me, my wife, and my son.  People could visit, but only with my permission, since there'd be a huge invisible electric fence to protect us there.

I'd buy a copy of every book, in every edition, from every company, in English, of the following authors:  Lord Dunsany, H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, Albert Camus, Franz Kafka, Ernest Hemingway, Brian Lumley, Anne Rice, Alan Dean Foster, Fritz Leiber, various poets, Victor Davis Hanson, Mary Shelley, and a couple more I can't think of, at the moment.

I'd found a publishing house where I'd pay poets to write, and create books at a reasonable price, and make sure that the art is available to be read, and poets, of professional caliber, paid well.  I'd do the same with other areas of the arts, and humanities as a whole.

I'd get liposuction. 

I'd create a seed bank so when the apocalypse comes, humans who are unfortunate enough to survive will have something to start over with.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Not So Clear What To Do When You Are Hooked

They were slaughtered for their flesh, for us to consume.  We hung the carcases up to let them drain, bleeding out upon the floor.  They were born for a purpose: To die and by their death make us stronger.

We never stopped to consider their own intelligence, or the cost of our raising them for the purpose dying.  Could the feed that we used to raise them better feed individuals who ate the beasts?

Whether they were here for our consumption or not, we killed them.  We ate them.  We sacrificed their flesh upon a pyre, burning with smoke of the wood.  We became used to the burning sacrifices.

Eventually we ran out of land, too many people, our seed grain used to feed the cattle had to be diverted.  We understood that the world was dying.

So we ate whatever ate the grain.
We ate each other.
We bred our kind to provide food.
And so we had meat.
We had grain.

The problem was solved.

Friday, August 1, 2014

Cats and Dogs, Dogs and Cats

I am so very fortunate to have the cats who have filled my life.  Katya and Sophia are my beloveds.  My cats Mischa, Simone, Anton, and Natasha are waiting for me in the afterlife, and I will live there with all of them... when it is time, of course.

I was therefore excited to receive GRAPHIC CLASSICS newest release Canine Classics/Feline Classics, illustrated tales from lovers of animals.

Tom Pomplun adapted many of the tales, and they are brilliantly illustrated, in color, by some fabulous talents.  The original stories were written by some of the greatest writers of all time, and that isn't the least bit hyperbole.  H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, Edgar Allan Poe, Ray Bradbury, Ambrose Bierce, O. Henry, Algernon Blackwood, and more, show the depths of, and the utter awesomeness of companion animals in our lives.

I was shocked to see that the works were in color, since most of the books prior, that I remember were not.   I read every story, and while I adored every cat story, I even liked the dog stories.  To explain why this is important, I don't like dogs.  I've seen terrible things happen by dogs, I've been bit, and more.  So, the power of the fiction was able to overcome my prejudices.

I not only recommend this flip book, one side cats, one side dogs, I am going to put this on my shelf as one book I will keep and read again.

I don't give grades generally, anymore, but I am giving this book an A+.  I loved it that much.