I am playing with fire. I can get severely burned, or watch everything fade away into ash.

The only problem is I haven’t internalized the consequences yet. I am still having fun.

I look upon my workspace and see failed attempt after failed attempt. Rejection letters from places of employment, unfinished ventures, and forgotten tasks.

In a way, I am grateful for the things that didn’t work out as planned. Because it led me to this moment. Yet, getting what you want is a nice thing as well.

Shoot for the stars, because even if you miss you’ll end up somewhere in the cosmos. Which isn’t the best place because it’s pretty inhospitable in the vacuum of space.

Another benefit of where I am now is it allows me plenty of time to reflect on the shitty things I did in adolescents. The idea is when I look upon those memories hopefully I will learn a thing and move on, or get some closure at least.

I don’t want to name names or anything, but I would like to take this moment to apologize to the kid who lived on the street behind me. He was a nice kid, and I was manipulative and mean to him.

Sorry, bud.

Crazy how our minds work. What stirred those reflective thoughts was thinking about a bicycle sprocket called blackjack. It was on a bike I was going to give to a kid who I thought needed to be taught how to be cool. (OH man, I was a fool, about what was considered acceptable about proper social behaviors.) I let him ride the bike, for like a week and then took it back, and gave it to another younger kid. A gosh darn Indian giver is what I was. It was a whole process, of reclaiming the bike, then giving it to the younger punk. Unfortunately, my little brain couldn’t connect the dots about the actions I was doing and parents got involved.

The little punk never gave the bike back, and I put a large strain on the relationship of the good kid.

I just remember being dragged from house to house, trying to rectify my actions and find a solution.

You can call it karma.
You can call it the universe returning back to equilibrium.

You can call it whatever you want.

But as of right now the good kid is out there living life and being a valuable member of society, building things with his knowledge of computer engineering. The punk who I gave the bike too, I have no idea where he is. (A safe bet is probably in the slammer, but I cannot be certain.)

Then there’s me, who years later is looking upon his wasted youth, and feeling regret.

The benefit of idle time and actually recording your thoughts.

One thing that is advantageous is maybe, just maybe, since I am confronting these toxic memories of my youth that I can move forward and be a better person.

That’s the plan.

I’ve spent a lot of my life lost. Pandering to ideas that would never truly make me happy, but the pursuit was something worth doing, otherwise, I would sit around and think all day.

Thinking is fine and dandy. It’s how I spend most of my time (allegedly)

There is power in silence. To find the spaces between your thoughts, it is in those places where you start to understand yourself.

This will be my thirty-six day writing consecutively, which is good. It is good because it shows that I can do something creative at least once a day. Also, it flushes out those root memories about how I view the world.

This process does have some cathartic principles and is a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy, which my uninsured ass can’t afford.

The kicker is I am writing to be exposed. Which can be a good thing or bad thing. A good thing because it helps me be vulnerable. A bad thing because I could be writing more privately if I knew that it would not be available on the internet. A form of self-censorship, I presume.

Sometimes, I can add something of value, by the way, I arranged words. Other times I shoot from the hip and miss. I create soft short tangents about why I think the way I think.

Definitely look back on my life there is some hesitation about how I lived it. I chased down the days of youth with heavy amounts of axe body spray, hair gel, and shortsighted decisions.

Luckily where I lived there was wannabe gangsters who are worse of than me now. It would have been nice if I had to someone to show me how to navigate the realm of public school.

What’s done is done though.

I can just take what I’ve seen and add some insight about what it means to me now.

Well ladies and gentlemen,

I’ve crossed another day.

and as always,

Hang Tough,

Be Bold,

Live Creatively.



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A writer of futurist stories. Self Improvement Disciple, Dreamtrapreneur, Rephraser of podcast knowledge: