Don’t Believe Everything You Think


Don’t believe everything you think.

Past thoughts that repeat, will not help.

Think the thoughts of the better person you will become.

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Before, my destination


Somewhere before my destination

before the point of no return

and way beyond the place which once resembled home

a couple hours away from cheap motel rented solace and sleepful oblivion

I found a diner on the edge of a forever sunset

The endangered neon sign called it the Mile Post

It had all the attractiveness of too much caked makeup and cheap menthol cigarettes

Even the cockroaches outside were busy getting ready for the midnight grease shift

I knew I’d be in good company soon

This was a spot where the dreams of travellers had come to rest

A sanctuary for endless fantasies filled with steamy drive in make out sessions

Hot california winds spinning pinwheels of dead highway sailors

Drenched in three hour heated coffee and stale sesame seed bun burgers

A Formica fiddlers green, worn down by the thousand tanned left arms of truckers

Ignoring the youthful transplanted tourists who got their first taste of objectivity

They shed their cloaks of ignorance for strange desserts in the desert

Laughing too loud to realize that the best conversation of their lives had just crossed their tongues

They consumed without tasting

I found a wobbly stool at the silver chromed counter, and asked for the blue plate special.

They were out of powdered gravy mix, but at least they knew what I was talking about.

Cheap paperback turning hands delivered a menu and surprisingly cool glass of water

She asked me where I was from.

I said, it’s more interesting to where I was going.

Towards something closer to yourself? Or further away? she asked genuinely interested

-That’s the beauty of found places like this, the more shallow of company, the deeper the conversation.

I winced, trying to stretch out the penanced thousand miles of vibration out of my spine

Rubbing the tunnels out of my eyes until the green and yellow neon blob monsters rewrote my cones

I drank the local water, inviting the rumor powered nightmares into my lower bowels.

The blue plate burned the back of my throat, too many heartfelt burned words stuck there

I promised that once I got the answers to Where I was Going, and Where I came from

I’d send her a postcard

With forgotten 50’s fonts telling her Wish You Weren’t Me but I Wish You Were Here

And maybe a Scratch and Win ticket from the Shambala Gift Shop and Information Emporium

Because mailed marketing promises are cheap

It’s a convenient commodity to ignore where you once came from

She smiled, the apple pie is on the house

I asked her what the view is like.

On the house, does it ever get quiet up there? Could you see the endless stream of lights, blurring together in endless firefly vectors?

She said it’s like peering into an experiment gone bad

Four generations of people looking through their TV shaped windows

They like that TV shape, it tells them bad calorie stories they can eat

They drive mechanical horse and carts consuming oil and gas, farting climate change

But they can’t be bothered to stop

They are too busy in their own heads

Looking for that next spot that reminds them of where they once were

Not really seeing the flowers that cling to the side of the road

But driving over them, and not going anywhere

The view my friend, is too real, that’s why I read cheap novels.

I have to know what the enemy is feeding the masses. Before I feed them.

-That’s the horror of trapped places like this, answering those questions that keep you up at 3AM

There was nothing else for me to say. I tipped my hat, I tipped the cashier, and then I tipped my nose to that spot on the horizon

-That’s the place, not even bottled medication or drink can stop the inevitability of yourself

This place moves you, allows and pushes you

The escape from the old and haunted with a bus ticket

Paid for by snapping those chains, and casting off the anchors of regret

The promise of a new place to excite and fatten my spiritual wallet

Somewhere in the orange glow of Ra’s embrace was where I had to be

The Road, she came with me, not that place inbetween places

But that familiar exciting scary monotonous movement that stretches out your soul

And she smiled knowing what I didn’t,

not where I was, not where I came from

But who I was going to be, when she was done with me

Flash Fiction Friday : Maxwell Pettypot


An interesting one for this friday, quick and to the point.

The writing exercise is come up with 6 or 7 identifying traits of a character that best describes them. The second part of the exercise caught my eye as the writer is to identify the worst traits or things they have done.

And now the curious and tiny tale of Maxwell Pettypot

Todays Guest editor is Sonneteer Extrodinaire, Kte Sherrod. You can check her great poetry at her website.