Whoa There.

It won’t be long now, till we know the fate of the world. So c’mon boy it’s time to move along. You’ve worn out your welcome. Stayed just a little too long. Jolly laughs and smiling faces, have turned to looks of scorn. There’s a murder on the horizon, coming to take you home.

Maybe there will be a next time. We’ll burn it fast and bright. We won’t make the same mistakes, we’ll do it all alright. Fuck the pain and misery, we’ve imposed on ourselves. Dust off your fancy jacket boy, and polish up your boots. We’ll have a shot of whiskey, and play our favorite tunes.

The world may go up in flames, but I’ll always see you there. Waiting for those birds, to take you away from here.

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Jim, Beam Me Up!

I always want to write. I get ideas and I say, yeah, write that down. Then I get to the white screen of anxiety and lock right up. So I’ll just start typing and see what type of drivel comes out this time.

There’s a lot of pain in my past, and I sense that to truly evolve into some happiness there is going to be a lot more pain and difficulty in my life. I can just feel it welling up. Like being tied to a rock in a tide pool and feeling the water on your toes, then your feet, then something in the water starts nibbling at your shins. Anyway there’s that, and I have a song lyric start in my head…

It’s a million miles away,

my salvation.

It bleeds, slow and bright.

Take me away.

Take me away before I know.

There’s time and there’s cement.

Someone cut a hole,

In space time and let it spin.

Spin baby, spin.

I’ll pick my horse and grin.

The light inside you,

will vanquish me.

Active Shooter Training

For my part-time job I had to attend an Active Shooter training session. We basically just watched a video on the best way to survive. I won’t get into the details as to not plagiarize.

It was a scary training. Thinking that at any pointless moment of my work life I may be jolted awake by gunfire and screaming. The video programmed into my brain which translated into early morning nightmares. Wide awake at 3 a.m. after seeing myself crouching for cover and running for the exit. Would I yell to alert customers where there was an exit, or protect myself thinking of my family at home? Would I bum-rush the shooter in a last ditch effort if I needed to? Attack them as violently as possible is what I learned. I see their body flex under a hit from a full on charge from me, watch their head crack against the floor or a wall. Did he drop the gun? Is he pointing it at me? I grab his hair and start pounding head against the floor. *vooop* eyes open, wide awake. Jesus. when I can nod off again, it just plays on repeat.

It’s the age we live in. We need to be aware of this type of thing possibly happening, anywhere, anytime. It is not very likely, and maybe it’s the old Boy Scout in me, but I like to be as prepared as I can be. From now on, wherever I am, I’ll check for exits and escape routes.

For some, being prepared means carrying their own pistol. This does make me feel safer, but for selfish reasons. As you become a stationary target, fumbling trying to get your gun out of your underwear, trying to be a cowboy, I will be carrying my kids and running like hell. Worry about saving your own ass they say. Well, my kids are more important than me, and you, if you tag the shooter, you can have the hero credit, if you wind up dead, you’ll still be my hero.

I understand the desire to carry a gun, but I do not think it is the answer. In fact, I think it pushes the problem in the wrong direction. The world will be a better place if we trust and understand each other. Carrying weapons makes a pretty huge statement of distrust. Instead of reaching out to people on the fringe and telling them to come back, this sends a message of, “Back Off Sucker”. Instead of being on the fringe they go off the edge quicker.

Rekindling Your Spark.

Charles Bukowski has this poem entitled “Spark”. It’s about some of his darker days as a cog in the machine and how hopeless the everlasting monotony of life can be. Somehow, through it all, Bukowski managed to save just a spark of himself and wouldn’t allow the jobs or his lifestyle to take it away.

I’m always moved by this poem and reread it fairly often. As I was reading some Alan Watts and thinking a few days ago, I realized the spark Bukowski is talking about is the sense of wonder. This is the most precious gift given to us humans. When it dies we become cold and zombie-like (walking dead basically) because our lives are meaningless without it. In order to justify being alive we then create meaning by desiring endless piles of things, or trying to be better than someone else, or any other of the self-destructive behaviors out there.

I’m depressive and anxious (Jesus, who isn’t, right?), and I’ve lost sight of my wonder for many years. I Kept myself alive through these periods with booze and other momentary pleasures. I never even tried to hold on to my spark, in fact I probably would’ve sold it for a few moments of escape if I could’ve. But, within the last year or so, I’ve discovered and nurtured it, and now have a small glowing ember. If my spark was gone, I’d truly be dead. Are you still alive? Then, there is hope.

It’s ok if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t either at some of the places I’ve been inside. Once at Boyscout summer camp we started fires with sticks. Even with properly designed tools this was a difficult endeavor. You move a bow like stick back and forth quickly to spin the upright stick. The point of contact at the bottom gets very hot and smokes. Any slight breeze may cool it too much so you have to keep it protected. You build the smallest of embers and add a small amount of lint on the ember. Shield it from the wind, but blow gently and directly as needed. If it starts burning add a small amount of kindling. Keep it sheltered and keep working at it.

This is just like finding and rekindling your own spark. Sit in the dark and quiet, perhaps journal your feelings and ask for some sign of your spark, then back to sitting and listening. It doesn’t necessarily have to be dark and quiet, but you have to be open to it. Your wonder will find you, but you must be open to it. Don’t deny it as small as it may seem. It may be a desire to purchase a particular magazine, or check out a book about a certain topic from the library. It may just be an image of a guitar, a cat, a pencil, oil paints, a business idea, just noticing how your sheets are laying on your bed, or how your floor scratches your bare feet. Just be open to it.

Once you nab the idea, you can run with it, or like starting the fire, just take your time, protect it, build it. For me it was a desire to own an electric guitar. I started thinking and researching, a small amount of money came about to help me purchase one. I met people at work who played and one was selling a cheap practice amp. Things fell into place. I subscribed to a Guitar magazine to serve as a shield to my ember, reminding me monthly of my love for guitar and offering me new ideas if I got bored or sidetracked. I’ve been journaling more, I want to paint, the world is starting to look like a more interesting place.

Find your shield, find your kindling, and create your ember. Pretty soon you’ll be fanning the flames!

The Need to Write.

So I need to write. I need to find the time and energy to write. Which should be pretty easy because I feel like my life and well-being hinge on me becoming more of a writer. I need to write with the ferocity that my life hangs in the balance. Because it does. My normal day job just saps all my energy out, my sanity is threadbare. I walk around laughing at how much of an imposter I am, just waiting for someone to realize that I fake my whole day. Each smile and pleasing joke is forced. Maybe I’m just depressed, but I think it goes deeper into my soul and what I’ve been created to do.

As a child there were really just 2 things in life I loved. The idea of writing stories that  would move people is one. I remember being so anxious to learn new words and how to write so I could craft stories. In 3rd grade I wrote a 3 page long single spaced story for the fun of it. In sixth grade I remember still writing stories. Soon after the need to plot stories and follow a teacher designated formula took over and killed my ability to write. I felt like I had to adhere to the process and I just couldn’t, I felt like I was doing it wrong if I went against that. Thanks to adult desire and reading “On Writing” and “Bird by Bird”, I’ve realized there is less process and more writing to writing, exactly how I always felt.

The second thing that I always loved was rock music. I remember hearing Built This City by Starship 2000 on the radio, I also loved the Flashdance soundtrack. Well, between writing and music, neither play a major role in my life. I have betrayed myself. Now that my kids are a little bit older, they don’t need constant supervision, my MBA degree is over, and I have time, there are two things I really want to focus on to save my life. Writing and Music. I guess you could call it authentic living. Anyway, this blog may be the catalyst or record of my journey to becoming more authentic.

The Rainstorm. 200 Word Flash-Fiction Challenge

The following is my 200 words to start a story for terribleminds.com flash fiction challenge. Take it easy on me, its one of the first fiction pieces I’ve written in many years. I think the working title is “The Rainstorm”. I would be honored if you pick it.—-

There he was, standing on the porch, exposed to the pouring rain. He was fully drenched, wearing a flannel long-sleeve shirt, overalls, and big work boots. His usually curly hair was laying straight and came down to his shoulders. His body was shuddering but not from the cold rain driving down on him and soaking his bones. Laughter. That’s what it was. Slightly hunched forward and laughing from the pit of his stomach. Despite his circumstances he seemed to be quite cheerful.

He was quite the sight and was giving me something to do while waiting for the power to come back on. It had gone off almost 2 hours ago and would most likely be out for quite some time. That’s just the way it goes in a tiny town 50 miles from anywhere. This was much more interesting than watching another Judge Judy episode, and my Snuggy was keeping me warm in my recliner as I watched safely from across the street and behind slightly closed blinds.

The one thing that was throwing me off though was the large axe he was holding in his right hand, and was that a severed head hanging by its hair in his left?

My First Post!

An exciting title for a blog! So here it is, my fresh blog. I’ve come a long way and finally decided to make writing a major part of my life and post it publicly. Sure I’ve used Myspace blogging when it was cool and others…but my intentions here are to showcase some writing and get to know other like minded writers and degenerates.

i made the determination to be a writer quite some time ago, but decided to get an MBA for some reason, so I’ve been struggling through that wondering what the fuck I’m doing for the last 7 years. In December it is all over so I need to figure out what I am really about. So this blog will probably journal my attempts to live a more authentic life (even though I’m writing under a fake name!).

Why Sex or Tv? My wife asked me the other night if I wanted to have sex or watch the Walking Dead. It was honestly a tough call. So I’m in my mid-thirties with kids and sometimes just vegging and watching zombies get there heads split is the way to go.

Not sure where to go with this one, I was just excited to get going and I’m sure there are no readers anyway. I bought Killswitch Engage’s new album and it got me jacked up. I’m into choppers, all kinds of music but currently metal is at the top, always wanted to be a metal band singer among other things.

Anyway, hope the blogs to come are more interesting and someone starts reading it.

Rex Pullman