Story Writing Exploration - 001

The idea that humans were created, made in some grandiose way (rather than crawling, gasping out of the mud) never did sit right with me. The evidence I find most compelling (blindingly obvious more like, though not everyone agrees with me) playing out right in front of my eyes, with the way the man ahead of me in line keeps grunting while scratching his - well, nevermind that. Divine creation my ass - or, well - his?

The line finally moved forward, just enough to start me out of my wandering mind. Though when we only move forward an inch, maybe an inch and a half, the sigh that leaves me (not of my own free will, mind) is as boisterous and blustery as the tempest that took the roof clear off my garage. Which, being the reason I'm at the bank in the first place, is a bit too apropos for my liking. Why cashier checks are still needed in this day and age, I will, undoubtedly, never know.

___

What's the point? What's the connection? None, probably. But also that the largest and smallest machinations of the world do seem to like to parody each other, what with both the grand creation of the universe and the benign need of a trip to the bank being fruitless endeavors.

---

I apparently have to work through pretentious ideas to try to get to something else. Boo.

Its ok to have moments of Chaos

And moments at peace. 

Having one

Doesn't mean 

You lose the right

To the other

The Continuation

Seems like something needs to change. I wanted to start something and instead I didn't do shit. Let’s change it up. Let’s figure out who the fuck I am. 

My grandparents died at the end of 2015. They lived a good life and created happiness with each other, as evidenced by passing away only a month apart. 

When they passed it was my immediate families responsibility to clean out their home. I grew up playing in this house on the weekends, on my parents date nights, on all the days and nights my mother was over there for 7 years caring for my bedridden grandmother suffering late stage Alzheimer's. Dealing with and loving my crotchety WWII navy vet grandfather who was re-roofing his own home until he was in his mid 80′s. 

They had a lot of stuff. A lot of glassware and interesting objects because they were the type of people that took care of their valuables. 

I kept too much of that stuff. I have boxes and boxes of crap that I love. That I have no use for but for remembering them and the hours I would stare at the shelves in their basement filled with this stuff. 

I now have my own home, that I bought with my brother as a place to live and fix up while we’re trying to figure out how to be young adults. 

I think I have enough distance now to start going through it. To only keep the stuff that really means something. 

I was looking for a poetry book the other day.

Nothing spoke to me 

and I felt other. 

So I guess I’ll create my own words

to keep me company

this time around. 

The start

Idea: create a collection of moments relating to creating art, the creation process, and life.