I’m Seeking A Truth

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I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words
My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move
Typing on this old hand-me-down machine to transform
My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove
I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul
There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes
Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains
Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope

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Trying Out Stories In The Morning

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Trying out stories in the morning
Typing away on this ol’ machine
Thinking of something different
A genius the world’s never seen
But I can’t think of anything great
I guess I’ll get more coffee instead
I hear a whistle from my lady
I guess my love needs me back in bed

The Carcasses Of Inspiration

 

 

 

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The carcasses of inspiration
Wine glasses with Burgundy residue
Speaking to late nights & early mornings
Scribbles in the margin on the follow through
Feeling parched as I wake
Noticing your lipstick stains
Upon the rim of the glass
Reminding me of the dreams that remain
Bleary eyed, drinking the coffee grounds
Searching for a fate within the dregs
Fumbling over these typewriter keys
Lightheaded when I see your naked legs
Your smile is a distraction
But you pop a button & then one more
I’m at your complete mercy
Once the nightgown hits the floor

Immune To A Power Surge

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Immune to a power surge
I sit alone & quietly type
Not affected by technology
Refuse to be your modern gripe
I switched off my terrestrial radio
But I’ll still pound at these keys
I’m not cool or a trendy guy
I’m reserved, doing as I please
There’s never been an audience
Just a few genuine folks
Sharing myself sparingly
I’m better with these slow strokes
I’ll continue to conjure ideas
Preferring to use my typewriter
Nothing fancy; just a love of words
Old, but I can still pull an all nighter

Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

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Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought
Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees
Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late
You pray to the spirits of procrastination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love

*previously posted on former blog

You Know The Type

You know the type

Running off to sail the oceans

Claiming to be a dread pirate

Wishing for some sort of motion

A stagnant life killing the soul

Truth is, he only ever wanted to be with you

This is the life chosen, so time to live

Easy to forget the water’s real hue

Sonia


“Are you responsible for her?” They weren’t happy to see her wearing trousers, but I thought she looked superb. I guess her appearance wasn’t their concern. They wanted her to fit into their society’s mold for women. They were uncomfortable with someone who so blatantly defied them. Sonia didn’t give a “rat’s ass” (her words) about their structures. She was Sonia and no one else. She lived by her own rules and no one else’s. She could be infuriating, but I think I loved her.

“Sir, would you be so kind as to speak like a gentleman around the lady?” I gently replied.

“Ladies do not dress as such.”

Before I was able to interfere, she had bloodied the poor gent’s nose. I grabbed her hand and off we ran. She held tight to her sloppy hat. I hated that thing. I never thought it flattered her. It was too big and worn.

Sonia was a little rough around the edges. I knew that. It was fairly clear from the get go. But, there was another side of her. There was a side of Sonia that you would only see when you had her comfortable and feeling secure within herself. She was kind and loving then. It was as if all the outside threats melted away. Her smile was infectious. Sonia was a special girl. I will never forget her and our time together.

I lost her sometime before Berlin. It is difficult to remember exactly where. All of Europe was in chaos. Sonia had strong feelings about the whole thing. I just wanted her, but Sonia had a stronger moral compass. She slipped away to fight her own private war.

There were reports of her joining the resistance in France, Belgium, and North Africa. I believe those were all exaggerated, but some people need to believe in heroes. She could still make me smile from across the world. I didn’t know how to find her. I don’t know if I would anyway.

My life had become dull without Sonia. I typed away at my desk in that same room everyday. The hammering of the keys kept me agitated, but I had no other skills. The world was changing and I didn’t know how to change with it. I felt like I was fading into oblivion without any beauty in my life.

So I just kept typing. I had to get these ideas of freedom out into the world. They were the only thing I could use against the atrocities. I wasn’t the soldierly type. I was a man of words. I hated evil as much as the next guy, but I had to fight them in my own way. I thought perhaps I could transcend the war with my ideas.

On my way out of the office at the end of each day I checked the mail one last time. There was hope in my search. I was never rewarded with any word from her.

Living In A John Hughes Movie

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Living in a John Hughes movie
Suburbia laid out before me
I don’t look the outlaw type
Head of this house; I’m still free
But a simmering rebellion within
Thoughts not transferred in awhile
Preparing for this revolution
But it’s my typewriter, flair & my preppy style