Hopeless Romantic

As defined by (of all places) Urban Dictionary:

1. This person is in love with love. They believe in fairy tales and love. They're not to be confused as stalkers or creepy because that's not what a hopeless romantic is. All hopeless romantics are idealists,the sentimental dreamers,the imaginative and the fanciful when you get to know them. They often live with rose colored glasses on. They make love look like an artform with all the romantic things they do for their special someone.

"Angie is a hopeless romantic,she's always writing beautiful love poems to her boyfriend Mike." 

"Jack is such a hopeless romantic, he's always bringing flowers and doing the sweetest things for his wife."

2. A hopeless romantic is not the same as a hopeless flirter. A hopeless romantic dreams of who they will spend the rest of their life with and what the two of them will do together. They want to be romanced with sweet simple things and the thoughtful amazing surprises. They dream of being loved but also loving somebody. They don't just want somebody to hold them. they also want to hold someone. They realize that love isn't just about one person but both people. they are hopelessly in love with being loved AND loving back.

"My friends is a perfect example of someone who isn't a hopeless romantic. She says she wants to be romanced, but she flirts with every guy. And I mean EVERY guy. She calls herself a hopeless romantic, but shes not. Once she has a guy that just wants to love her, shes get bored after two weeks and then when he gets a new girlfriend, she suddenly likes him again. Thats not hopeless romantic. Thats just hopeless."

3. Hopeless Romantics are NOT hopeless per-say, but very true, caring, and loving people. They are "NOT MADE FOR TODAYS STANDARDS", sadly. They believe in passion, chivalry, and true love. They have loved sincerely at one point in their life, discovered what love feels like, and can't understand why it was not returned in the same form. Hopeless Romantics are usually dreamers, idealists, and sincere, however what they expect in any relationship is a full return for their effort and caring, to be loved as much as they loved. What makes them "Hopeless" is the fact that they are few and far between in todays daily life, and usually get let down in the long run, even though they gave all they had to give, money, love, time, housing, belongings. Hopeless Romantics give 100% ALL the time, and hope for the same in return.

Hopeless Romantic - "One Day you'll find someone who appreciates you, loves you, you gave so much, you were so true and faithful, you did EVERYTHING RIGHT."

Caption

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While reading the times and looking out the window,

I wonder sometimes as to why I am being watched,

constantly by the carbon products of my internet life.

 

The drilling of information seems far exceeding my needs, yet

before I begin with my microblogging nuances, I feel the need

to read the newspaper which is still dutifully delivered to my door every day at 5am.

 

After I have had my fill of coffee, a bite of a bagel, and a story

about the city council asking for another municipal bond,

I find myself on the computer, hunched over my keyboard

just as I was 15 minutes before I fell asleep last night.

Desire

I look at my screen and it’s slowly giving me a headache,
yet I cannot stop myself from punching keys
and making more words and telling a story.

How quickly and easily they flow out
like water spilling out of a river
and into a waterfall of endless ideas.

The time passes and I do not care
that I've been here, typing for well over 4 hours now
and I have no intention of stopping anytime soon.

Who’s to say I won’t just fall asleep
at the keyboard and end up smashing my face
into the keys as it comes falling down to my desk.

And if I do, I won’t care.
This beautiful rage swelling out of my heart
will not stop and I doubt that I ever will.

More Words

It’s forgiveness to write for my lack of continuity,
but only if I work from sun up till sundown.

I’ll type till my fingers are numb
at times and I often feel like I’ve accomplished
some great feat even though it’s just typing.

Sometimes I will start in the morning
and won’t stop till very late at night,
after the moon has graced us with its presence.

When I work during the day, I regret it
at times because I think I work better
when its 2am and I am sipping on some sort of fruit juice.

As the words pour out and the juice hits my palette,
I think of how I will feel when I am finally done
writing and what my words will sound like
to other people as they read them.

I've grown accustomed to that feeling
because I know that regardless of how I feel
when I am done writing,
I will just do it all over again the next night.

Over and over again until I have something
that resembles a novel that is alright,
and no one will buy it.

Writing a Dream

It seems like this used to be so much easier. I have been working on a certain piece of my next work, and I've written pretty much any scene you can imagine, complete with details, but this one is just a little harder to write for some reason. I think this scene is challenging because the scenery changes quite often, sometimes from page to page and getting into detail each and every time, while not required at this point, is something I really want to nail as certain details will play out over the course of the book. I am ripping my thesaurus to pieces and it actually feels really good. I've always worked with the aid of one and now I am looking even deeper, but not too deep as I don't want to start using words so remarkably obscure that it challenges the reader to the point where they are picking up a dictionary to understand half of what I am saying.

Planting seeds is actually easier because of the type of book I am writing. As previously mentioned, this work will explore other aspects of the characters lives not previously looked at. I find myself wanting to skip certain parts to get to those that I have outlined in greater detail. Some of the chapters are also providing more of an emotional benefit to me than others.

That being said, I have an offer from another reader to proof some of my newer work which is always welcome. I doubt that I will be offering first drafts for proofing as a ton of changes generally take place from 1st to 2nd draft. Hopefully this will get easier and I will being to push through this chapter.

Synchronicity

While the first book definitely had a handful of synchronized moments that were never truly meant to sync up in any formal way, I have decided to continue to explore this interesting and not often studied phenomenon. I liked the feel it gave to a couple of scenes in the last story so I want to see how far I can take the concept without it making the story seem to stylized and hokey.

For those of you that are unaware of what Synchronicity is, I will reference Wikipedia: Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events, that are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance, that are observed to occur together in a meaningful manner.

Some may try to form a relationship between Synchronicity and irony, trying to see them as the same thing. However, they are both independent of each other and have different meanings. While irony is usually seen as an unexpected occurrence or result somehow related to a particular happening, Synchronicity is the coming together of events that, while unrelated, appear to provide a singular meaning as they seemingly mesh together to provide one outcome. Some people have looked upon this subject as a sort of ESP or intuition. I will provide an example from the book.

In one particular scene, the character Emily is sitting on a bench outside of the store where the character John works. John is off that day, yet Emily is still there, thinking about him. John, who happened to be near his job on that day, decides to go by to see how things are going at the store. As he approaches the shop, he sees his friend Emily sitting on the bench. While neither of them expected to see the other there that day, somehow they both managed to be there not only that day, but also at the same time. You can see this sort of occurrence as coincidence, but you also have to wonder about the math involved: what were the chances that Emily, who knew John wasn't working that day would be there at the exact time that John would just happen to think about going to the store to check on his co-workers be? Also, at that time in the story, Emily and John are having a very difficult time concerning one another so the likelihood that they would run into each other was very low. They both knew that they needed to eventually see each other to work things out, but hadn't figured out a way to see to its happening. Given the circumstances, it's hard to call this simply a coincidence. One might even call it fate.

Synchronicity.

Maybe they were supposed to have met that day in front of his store so that they could find a way to solve their personal problems with each other. The meaning behind the meeting is quite evident, however no plans were made to meet in that way, and there lies your meaningful manner.

I am looking to use this in my next work which is already in chapter two. I am also looking to use other literary tricks as well, seeing as how my first book was relatively straightforward in manner. I want to get this work out as soon as I can as I am very eager to complete the story which is already finished in my head.

 

 

First 4 Chapters Available for Free on Amazon

Amazon.com is currently offering the first 4 chapters of Rumbling Heart as a sample before you buy. If you decide that the book is worth purchasing, it can be done for a very reasonable $5.99 with free wireless delivery for Kindle users. If you do not have a Kindle, you can still purchase the book and read it on any computer using the free Kindle app from Amazon.

Barnes and Noble also offer a free sample for their Nook device. Their sample is smaller however, and only gives you a little less than 2 chapters. The online price is also $5.99 with them. They also offer free software to download to any computer so you can read the book.

Most popular eReaders can handle either format so owning a Nook or a Kindle is usually not required.

Thank you again for the support and I look forward to the feedback.

No Cheers or Fanfair

Buy Rumbling Heart @ Barnes and Noble

Today, a dream that I've dreamed since I was young finally came to fruition. I have , on my own, written, edited, and released a book, completely of my own creation. While I admit I am not Hemingway when it comes to writing novels, I would like to think he would have looked over my book, gave it a good once over and said to me "That a decent start, kid. Keep writing." Unfortunately, Ernest isn't alive to give me such positive feedback, so I am having to look elsewhere for readers and honest opinions.

I know I'm not some amazing writer who is going to change the world. Hell, I may not even make you think twice about rereading my book once you have it in your possession, but I hope I can at least entertain you and stimulate your mind, if even for just a few nights while you make it through my novel. I've spent countless hours and many late nights working on the words and the text and the idea behind my work just so I can make it as perfect as I can just so I can release and look at it and tell myself that I did it. I really did it.

I cannot say how many times I've broken down in tears while writing and editing this book as many of the supposedly fictional scenes do have real life events intertwined in them, many of which I would rather forget, but for reasons I cannot understand, never seem to leave my thoughts.

I am sick and I know I am. That shouldn't keep me from leaving a mark on this world though. I keep telling myself every single time I wake in the morning that I should give it at least one more go around, just one more try. Just one more try before I cash in my chips. Just one more try before I call off the search. Just one one more try before I hear my exit music begin to play.

I am putting a lot on the line here and I am done hiding behind a fake smile and false positive emotions. I hide it all from everyone, even my family. They see me and they think I am ok, when I know I am not. For all I know, maybe they know I'm not ok and that's why they keep me around. I still cannot shake those events from December of 2009 and it haunts me every single day. It will always haunt me, but it will not define me. I want to leave a mark, a legacy before it's all said and done with. With these characters I've created, I hope to do just that.

John, Olivia, Emily, The Chris's, Donna, Stella, Paul, Audrey...they are all a part of me in ways many of you will never understand. While they all, within my work, define what it is to be human, they also show us a side which I wish we could all live up to. While we move through our daily routines and go to our jobs, raise our children, go to our schools, we all, if even for a short moment in time, wish we could be the best person we could possibly be. We all wish the person we were at our best would never leave. We all wish to be the greatest parents to our children. We all wish to be the children that we know would make our parents proud. We all wish to be the husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends that our partners have always wanted. We all wish to be the best friends we could be, letting our friends know that they could come to us for anything and at anytime and never be judged. However, we all know that this isn't how the world really works.

In the real world, we seem to casually wade through our lives, looking out only for ourselves and never looking back to see the people that we've stepped over to get to our final destination. While some of you read this, you all will surely say to yourself "Well, I've never done that...," but sadly, we all have. We get angry over things that do not matter. We sweat the small stuff. We yell at our kids and our friends and our spouses. People lose their jobs and are forced out of school. Parent's abandon their kids and children disappoint their parents. Our friends get into that car even though we know they've had to much to drink, and yes...sometimes our friends lose control of their car and destroy a family on New Year's Eve.

It's been said that we are the sum of all the people we've ever known in our lives and maybe that's why I am still going. Maybe that's why I'm still writing. Although I cannot remember many things from my childhood, there is still something pushing me to write and to speak and to talk about what I cannot recall. Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be. Maybe I was supposed to die when I was a child. Maybe I was supposed to die when my ex wife held that gun to my head, and maybe I was supposed to swallow all those pills in 2009 while all those voices steadily urged me to kill myself.

I release a book, and with it, I release myself. I release all those feelings that were supposed to have died within my trembling soul all those years ago. I know that this was what I was meant to do in this life. For so many years, I asked myself "What's this life for?" Now I know. It was to think and to feel and to smile and to laugh and to hurt and to cry and in so many ways, I've already loved more than I could possibly love in an entire lifetime, but I've also died a thousand deaths.

Each night, just me and my keyboard, the pain bleeds out of my hands as I write. All of those long nights have finally produced something of value. And with no cheers and no fan fair, I present to the world my Rumbling Heart.

Be Coming Apart

An unsolvable riddle.
Smiles are plentiful and all around.
Routine determines my mood,
But not once do I speak truth, sequester,
lies abound

Apparition of impulse, but temptation waits
Souls can be no bother.
Chained you to life and given you purpose
I do not share that wish
with you

Through a glass house, so you think
You look at me and cherish, but I am no part
You want me to see you as well
I smile and deceive you, perception’s invention
for so long

Atmospheres are not false, but acuity is
My smiles depict falsehoods, but not story
I do this, all this, because of what’s expected
So I leave life as it is, while holding onto
an empty bottle

Hemisphere

Does it matter if
the way is lost?
To speak to so many and have its marks uneventful,
because heaven is not-in the clouds.

Moving on from that dastardly expectance,
the resale option’s justly cost
Piney forest - meadows and dusky sanction
Somewhere is the where about of serenity

Swimming and surfacing, but-
No other has won my favor.
Righteousness is a selfish path,
or is it set by one’s own heart?

Excellent as a petri dish of disease
Its growth engulfed my visual sense
Harbor lights, and many moons later,
profound justice finds me, and I am just fine.

Orphan

Church seats are empty and the words do not come
I have nothing for the stables, so glorious run
The gleaming saint feelings of fearful regret
sit alone in this room, haunt poetry and song

Alone and bewildered and set in those ways
Along comes a nothing and stands in the way
Home is no home and I know I can’t stay
Extremities is all I can do for the length of the day

Sold off and tossed out and owned as a slave
The poise of a shackled, less wanting abode
It begs and it differs and fades in the wind
Seldom its innards come trailing kin

Wandering solely with heaven in doubt
The train loses baggage as it’s carried about
Till nothing is left, it’s just me and the rain
a little pain is just a norm across the jostling scape

Home, and My Company

I watch the breakers as they approach the shore,

Their frothy texture bubbling up

The distance exposes the horizon

My hand in his, and I feel home again.

 

Exceeding vistas caress my view

We go walking between the trees

The cherry blossoms, aiding my demeanor

Stroll along and smile, beside me, he breathes

 

The bustling rush and the crowded streets

Remind me of things I’ve grow tired of

While my work keeps me traveling, on the go

I long for serenity, a peaceful scene

 

Still I find myself missing this place

I’ve moved on to another

Quiet nights, and I watch him sleep

I touch his hand, and thank him for coming

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Image via Wikipedia"][/caption]

The Infamous Hamster Tonic Murder

The Infamous Hamster Tonic Murder


June 22nd 1996


Fuzz


Rain


Kill


Pain


Steal


Force


Coming home


Of course


It bit me


It bit me


It bit me


It bit me

Hands

Socks snuggly embracing feet, but I look at his hands

They are small, but his fingers are long, delicate

Many times I’ve held them, their grasp never long enough

I long for their warmth, ache for their company

 

His hands are my drug, shivers unhinge my continence

Brown eyes tell his story and I listen amicably

My breasts rise and breath escapes me

I pull on his shirt, he grants me curved lips

 

The moment is maddening, my toes curling under

Grasping at palms, pawing for consideration

How did I come? to this point

Rushing blood from my heart carries me to his mercy

 

I sit and I stare and I wonder

Life in his arms, those hands brushing my rose-colored cheeks

There he is, beside me, my eyes finally close

Bury my head in his chest, and I begin to feel true

Revolver

Revolver

 

Unrealistic transformation, hidden revolver

Bursting bulbs, the lights, the tone will be fine

Cheers or jeers, I don’t care which

Collision into hindrance happens regardless

 

I look over to the mirror, dim luminescent glow

The colors I wear, dark and dazzling

I see my hair draping down and consider it fine

The rings on my fingers click against the crackling hiss deity

 

I look at the door, listening, that relentless vociferate

Repetitious existence, hundreds a year, yet still neurotic

Welcome thy dead souls, intrude my horizon

It’s what they expect so I exhale, and cry again

 

Enervating and worrisome, and loosening my grasp

The phantasmic ritual recovers memory, inception manifestation

I walk to the door and carry my affliction

They will all get to see what they paid for

 

Bright Star

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="299" caption="Image via Wikipedia"][/caption]

Picked up a John Keats book. Unfortunately, they were out of his poetry books so I went with Bright Star. It includes letters that he sent to Fanny Brawne during their over 2 year love affair. For those of you unfamiliar with Keats, he unfortunately died of tuberculosis age the age of 25. Before he died, he gave Fanny a ring that belong to his mother and she ended up wearing it the rest of her life. She was 18 and he was 23 when they met and like a truly devoted person, she mourned him after he died for over 6 years. She did eventually marry at 33 years of age and had three children, but she never took off the ring. Ever.

His letters were meant for her eyes only, but they obviously still ended up being published 15 years after her death. While at the time, some of the letters were viewed as obscene, the feelings he exhibited via his writings still show truth and promise, and utter devotion even today. There was a movie made of their romance which has a lot of his writing in it as well.