Tag Archives: Obsession



I’ve been trying to contact you
Although I have never said a word
I’ve been typing my thoughts to you
And sending them like prayers out
Into the ether. Never seen, but merely whispers

You have not responded
I must assume you are getting my messages
What do you think when you look down to read them?
Do you think me a fool, an asshole, or misguided?

Your apathy angers me
Your unwillingness to let me in frustrates me
Your disregard for my feelings disturbs me
Why are you so willing to ignore me?

Ignore my thoughts, my feelings, my plans, my needs, my love?
How can you go about your day without a concern.
Without a glance, without a nod, or a we’ll talk soon.
Your lack of response has driven me mad.
I have diminished myself by lurking, stalking.

I see you on your Facebook
Liking a person’s status
Making cute little comments
Posting, posting, posting.

What have you been doing the last two days?
The days that you have been ignoring me?
Let’s look at that timeline and see.

You lost your phone in the toilet.

My bad.

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An Exquisite Toxicity


Acid enhancement
Alcohol fueled inspiration
Sweating out

Reality unconfirmed
Reality deniable
Catalysts force action
Not action unforced

These things bring Evil
These things bring Good
An ego conflagration

Judgment individual
A mirror to one’s self
The court of the soul
The stains of sin
The sport of cleansing
The doing
The duty

This chemical attack might
Bring wisdom
Most likely bring injury
Maybe scars
And certainly

Beautiful corpses
Under disco balls
Smoke machines

This fog is profit
Experience births fury
A trip to remember
A vacation to fear
The torture
Of personal rebellion.

So bring the attack
Attempt control
This sheep will not be shamed
This one will not yield
This world is my world
And beyond your law
Your judgment

Beyond thought
Beyond custom
Beyond religion
Beyond the filth
Beyond the gods

In the ruins of the taboo
With pounding music
In the deep dark

I live.

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The Hamster Wheel of Obsession

Sometimes I think

This is as good as it will ever get
I talk too much
I don’t listen
I am not worthy
I am underappreciated
I could lose some weight
I look just fine
I am not smart enough
I am not talented enough
I am wasting everyone’s time
People secretly feel sorry for me
That I am a terrible friend
I am a lousy husband
I am lacking the tools
I am successful
I am not successful at all

Sometimes I think

I don’t get it
My genius is lost in a sea of screaming voices
I will never learn
I have made a serious of bad choices
I have painted myself into a corner
It will never get any easier
I will never fill the hole
I will always want what I can’t have
I want too much
I want too little
I don’t work hard
I’m not reaching my potential

Sometimes I think
I should have done more
I should have said more
It’s too late
I am tired
I missed the boat
Or bus or train or whatever
It could end today and that would be fine
There’s more to do than I have time for
I’m broken
I’m damaged freight
It’s time to suck it up
It’s time to grow up
Victims create their situation
It’s beyond my control
That my list of worries will only grow


Sometimes I think

I think too much

The Fields of the Unworthy


Shadow or spotlight
Neither promises much
Glaring truth in plain view

Chopper blades humming
Thumping looming closing
Heart valves pounding straining


They finally found me
Hopes and expectations to the ether
The noose tightens quickly

All those things
I did or said or thought
Have come to fruition

My denial shattered
Foolish confidence
Outranked by reality

Fraudulence uncovered
Burning light centered

One shot.

One drop.

And the check finally cashed.

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Violet Pastures

Flashback Fridays continue with this strange item I found written on the back of a notebook. Is it worthy of life beyond the box in which it was found? Not entirely sure! There are a few things going on here that I like, and for me at least, there’s a vibe that’s interesting. Feels a bit like excerpts from different poems jammed into one. Perhaps it will lead to several more…regardless of it’s merit, I give it life today.

Purple lasting longer209662750_826d454af2_b
Than any other shade
Disciples of deceit
Carrying traumas of regular anticipation.

What could take us away
From casual frustration
And scheduled stress

Posing questions is three on a match.

Befuddled stars scratch
Their heads and shrug
Turning to the cameras.

Alien to natural design.
Obstacle to daily life.
Irrational to all biological function.
We simply think too much.


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Teflon Girl

Flashback Fridays! I’m very much enjoying ruffling through the old crate of notebooks. These poems are better than a journal. Less minutiae, more emotional memory. This one goes back to late undergrad and speaks of a young man who is having a hard time wrangling someone he cares about. Poor guy.

Teflon Girl


My Teflon girl

So slick and unable to wrangle

How did you get so slippery

So slick and beyond my grip


Maybe I should scrub your surface down

With harsh abrasives

Pocked and scarred it would be

So easy to get into the cracks


I don’t want to wear you down

I adore your smooth surface

I want to preserve it

So I may enjoy it forever


I know how to treat you

But I cannot even get a hold

And because of your nature

You could not help if you tried


I hope my will is strong

And my eyes accurate

So that I can catch you at

The perfect moment


Or watch you slip away for good.

A Thunderous Conclusion.

brainSo, I think I broke my brain. I am currently working to fix it.

Over the past four months since I indie-pubbed my first novel, Leather to the Corinthians, I have been spending considerable energy using social media (read: all my free time) to market and promote the book. Prior to its release, I had done a sizable amount of research and created a massive, multi-tabbed spreadsheet filled with competitions, communities, reviewers, Facebook Pages, distributors, and so on.

Prior to completing the novel (which in itself was an excruciatingly long process, some of which was documented on this blog), I spent a considerable amount of time learning how to publish the book (this was after many months of query letters and rejections), as well as hiring professionals to polish the manuscript, format the text, and illustrate the cover (money well spent). I read page after page in book, on websites, etc. I was consumed with figuring it out.

NOTE: I have an obsessive personality. I wasted two years playing World of Warcraft. Serious players spend as much time reading about the game and how to play it as they actually play it.

I had created a pressure situation. I knew I could spend years knocking on agent’s doors and submitting small pieces to lit mags. That’s one classic model of building a writing career, and it is advisable. It’s respectable. However, I’m 43 not 23 and I am feeling Father Time sitting on my chest.

Plus, I’m big on DIY and kind of Punk Rock in mindset.

I jammed my brain with information about writing and publishing. Perhaps too much. I knew I needed to get it out. It was driving me crazy. My Facebook newsfeed is filled with well-meaning indie authors squawking about their massively successful books (I am becoming more dubious as time goes on). I have made many, many trips to the post office to mail out books for review, and I sent requests to easily 10 times as many who never responded. I know it’s all a part of the process, but it’s exhausting.

It became clear to me that I had to flush my brain. Purge it of all the advice, all the thinking, the spreadsheets, the self-doubt, the endless patrol of my Amazon and Goodreads pages. (Why, that asshat gave me two stars!) Promoting the book had become more important than the writing.


I realized it was time to move on and let the damn thing breathe. However I am a completist (you gamers know what I’m talking about) so I felt that I had to at least get through what was in front of me.

I had the last week off work and spent a few hours each day trying to get through what was left of the resources I had gathered. I still have a few to go, and the week has passed.

I am desperate to finish off my list, as I want to move on to my next novel. Plus, I want to drum up some freelance writing gigs (on top of my full-time job teaching) and I have been mulling another blog as well. I’m nuts.

About two weeks ago I came to the realization that I would never be able to tap into every possible writing community or resources. It’s a hydra of epic proportion. Each site leads me to another and another.

Deeper down the rabbit hole.

There are millions of words written about writing. There’s more writing about writing than actual writing. Everyone has advice to offer. Everyone has a service to sell. It is mind-numbingly endless.

I have seen total crap that is apparently very successful. Not many people post about lousy book sales or that their book sucks hairy nads. I have visited a bottomless pit of blogs containing long passages of nothingness, with a shitton of “likes” at the bottom. I have found talented people lost in the digital wilderness (hello, fellow traveler), so much more deserving of attention. I also see people that promote their book from morning to night. I am slightly envious of the time they have for such things, but it is also quite tedious.

I have witnessed much energy being expended. I wonder…

Is this just a bunch of writers trying to sell books to other writers? Is this working? Is this progressing the wondrous written word and the glory of reading? Have we entered a new age of literacy (cause that’s cool).

Or is this a bunch of monkeys humping a football? And if so, what is my monkey ranking? How are my stats? What’s my possession time?

typeI came to another conclusion. I could spend all my time promoting my single book (forever and ever) or I could do WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING – writing the next book, the next article, the next post, the next script, and the next blog. So, I am trying to wrap up this damn promotion thing.

Based on my calculations, I should be done with my list and unless something looks utterly amazing, I ain’t gonna bother. I have yet to really find a fellow writer with my sensibilities (read: weird), except for these Bizzarro writers up in Portland but I can’t figure out their scene. Maybe by making this decision I will miss the one opportunity that would change everything for me and I’ll miss it. I’m telling myself not to even consider that possibility.

I can’t. I’ll spend all my time thinking I missed something. I’m obsessive, remember?

So after much time and effort spent, I now truly understand that there is no road map to writing success.

If Leather is lighter fluid, I’m going to let it ooze through the cracks and maybe one day it will strike flame. I don’t need to be fabulously famous, I don’t need great wealth, but if my efforts lead to a day when I can spend half the day writing, and the other half connecting with people (notice that there’s no full-time job here) and still pull down a decent income, then I will feel satisfied on a daily fucking basis.

Hear me universe! I declare that this will happen!

So another week or two and then that’s it. I’ll do a free e-book day here and there and probably give away a few books on Goodreads. Otherwise, it’s back the to the best part – writing. And poetry. And blogging.

And my next book…if anyone is interested, it’s a ghost story. This time I will be concentrating more on character and story, as opposed to structure and setting. It will be much less experimental in nature.

Love it or hate it, Leather was a bitch to write. A lot of pre-writing. A ton of research. I’m not quite ready to go back. But I will soon enough.

I’m going to knock this second novel out and then return to the weird world I created in Leather. I figure I’ll follow this pattern: weird book > marketable book > weird book > marketable book. Oh, and I have to build some time to do the submitting thing to various journals and sites. I need to spread my seeds of literary corruption.

As I work on my next book, I plan on blogging through the process as well. Many of you have told me that my documentation of the Leather writing process was inspirational. Laugh all you want, that’s what they told me.

Ok, I need a couple Advil.

Lucas out.

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