It is not my intention
To make you think I am miserable
I am merely tender
Because I am a little sad
I feel untethered
I am a little angry
With all of us
And honestly
I am quite tired
Of myself
And that is why
I can say
I am everything
I also
Do not wish to convey
I am feeling
Light spirited
Or apathetic
The last thing I want
Is to appear insensitive
But I have to keep somewhat busy
Or the ants in my brain
Turn to termites
And then I’m gone
Just like this morning
There was no rush
To make coffee
And start my day
So I laid there awhile
Wondering if I could go back to sleep
After only five hours
One would hope so
But when I started to curl like a snail
And my eyes began to well
I flung back my quilt
And shook my head
I will not allow
Sadness to overtake me
Life is for living
I can embrace another day
Even if it does pale
To ones before
Even if it isn’t filled
With what I would choose
If I had all my druthers
I have not
Went off my feed
I have not
Lived breath to breath
This time
And I thank God for that
May I never drown
In emotions
Ever
Again
I have elaborated on this before, but this was in my memories today and I felt led to share.
so you want to be a writer? by Charles Bukowski
if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.
don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
When it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in
you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
***I copied this just as it appears out of my Bukowski book. This speaks to me. I know my posts are long & probably uninteresting to some, but I honestly can’t shorten them. I have a story to tell and there is no cropping it. (Posted on my Facebook April 21st, 2015)
Let me tell you something
If you are targeting women
I would not select
Two middle aged redheads
Who are supremely tired
Of everyone’s shit
And wearing heels
That hurt their feet
Because not only
Are they packing bad attitudes
One is packing a 9 mm
And isn’t afraid to use it
So sit your ass down
On that park bench
And decide if it’s worth
Having at least one bleeding hole
To make a woman uncomfortable
Because she has a take no prisoners
Kind of policy
And
Shoot now
Ask questions later
Because life has not been
Especially kind
It has been a good day
And I’d hate to ruin it
With a trip to prison
For the likes of you
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
By Angela Hardin, via text 4/20/24 9:53 am
Imagine.
A probably 68-70 year old man. Glasses. Waxed down wispy hair on top, and a narrow ring around the outside. Thin and upright. Wearing a black leather jacket zipped halfway over a starched white button up. Straight cut, fitted starched jeans. Tight but not too tight. Strutting into the grocery store like Tony Manero in his alligator boots on an apparent rebuilt heel.
I presume all of his attire is original from the eighties and that he takes his jeans to the cleaners to have pressed. Nothing about him was slouchy.
He rolls into the check out with a case of Guinness and asks for a pack of Camel!
I thought to myself, “This’ll go quick with two items and I can get out too” so I get in line behind him.
Nope. He pulls out HIS CHECKBOOK!
I’m like…. Um…… but I said hi so I can’t back out now. I gotta stand there and wait for him to write it out and ask what the total was twice😵💫
I was done in less than 90 seconds and bop out to the car. I notice he is corralling his buggy. And then he gets into a jeep. Like old school jeep. Like he probably bought new in the seventies.
No top.
IT’S RAINING.
It has been raining so it’s not like this should have been a surprise.
As he was out doing errands.
So he pulls out with his wipers on, in a jeep with no top.
I cannot stop laughing.
Amy’s note: I am dead now, posting posthumously. I told her this was the greatest story I’d heard all week and I talk to John Alan multiple times a day, so she’s really done something here. I thought he had the two greatest quotes of the week between talking about his buddy who’s missing a thumb: “He can do everything but peel a shrimp and shape a hat. Oh, and tie his shoes.” And today’s, “not in my weakest moment, in the darkest night, in my drunkest hour”. I told her a guest post on my blog was the highest honor I could bestow. Hat tip, my friend. I only wish I could have seen it. I mean, I’m struggling over here but I didn’t go to the grocery store at nine in the morning with my sunroof open in the rain for cigs and beer. I hope this gentleman has an uplifting day and doesn’t have to drink all twelve to get there. Wonder if he had some of those sunglasses that flip down over the regular lenses. I wonder if he has a black leather vest with a pocket watch. I bet he carries a pocketknife that he uses to cut his fingernails. I wonder if he goes to the flea market to pick up ladies…
On my second patio of the afternoon
I laughed for the first time
In a few days
When my cousin texts me
I try to say yes
I will always brave the pollen
To eat sushi
And drink beer
And catch up on life
We will understand
And have the hard conversations
And tell the honest to God
TRUTH
Because no sense in sugarcoating it now
It was supposed to rain
But I’m so glad it didn’t
And now it is twilight
There is no moon
No stars
But I know they’re still there
Just like me
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
I don’t know what I can say
If you tell me I have sad eyes
It’s because I am sad
If you say I look tired
It’s because I am
If you comment I’m short tempered
I would cock my eyebrow
Because that’s not news
So this afternoon
I have lain my t-shirt quilt
Underneath my stunted redbud
I have sat upon it
And tried to find some tranquility
It’s not working
But I don’t have anything else
I really want to do
I am thankful
My allergy pills seem to be working
And there has not been an invasion
Of Boxelder bugs
For a few years now
I admire my Columbine
Pink and yellow
It’s the little things, you see
Do I deserve to write of a battered heart
Or restless nights
What are appropriate topics
You reckon
If I could write of trite happiness
Would my intentions shine through?
So yes
Lush clover
Inches from my face
But still no four leaf-ers
Yet
I wonder if you found
What you were looking for
“You normally have to be bashed about a bit by life to see the point of daffodils, sunsets and uneventful nice days.”
Alain de Botton
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
Tuesday
On Thursday
Because Tuesday
I was a jumble
And the last thing I wanted
Was to sit in front of a keyboard and bleed
Because that is what I do
If we're being honest about it
But Tuesday
I had a horse to see
And I wanted softer edges
So I blurred the line
With Colorado Kool Aid
I'm no coward
But sometimes I need a break
From facing life straight on
I still didn't sleep
Not in the bed
Or on the couch
Or in the floor
Or on the porch
Even though I tried them all
Did you know
There are birds that sing all night?
I do now
I've heard them
Because I saw 1:15
And 3:30
And seventeen other times I was awake
I was awake
But I didn't look
To see if they had a bad eye
Or a wounded heart
So I didn't mean to give you hope
That I had given up
Or that I would stop
Bleeding
I'm sorry if you think
I could quit that easy
Thank you to the friends who
Know me well enough
To know if I don't have something to say
I have lots to say
Who aren't scared
Of my caustic tongue
Who scoop and cup my spirit in their hands
As you would a hummingbird
Gently, gingerly, delicately
And ask, "How's your heart today?"
So I send them a poem
And they say "I hate you had it in you to write it"
I do too, I do too
But I did
And I’m still here
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
I am so tired—
And I am so thirsty—
I don’t think of you,
I don’t think of you
I get up
I get ready
I don’t think of you,
I don’t think of you
I drive to work
I check my phone
I don’t think of you,
I don’t think of you
I eat, I read, I file
I talk, I giggle, I smile
I don’t think of you,
I don’t think of you
I come home
I pet my dog
I don’t think of you,
I don’t think of you
I sit on my porch
I paint my toes
I don’t think of you,
I don’t think of you
I sigh, I drink, I cry
I don’t think of you,
I don’t think of you
And at the end of the night
When I have made it another day,
I lay down
And I dream of you,
I dream of you
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
I cannot write of redbuds and ladybugs
Not now
But I should strive to do better
For it is spring
And you need to read something much lighter
Than my trials
I once had a high school English teacher
Who told us
“You must write of what you know”
And although I know of horses
I know of heartbreak better now
I know of trout fishing
I know of SEC Football
Well, I used to
I find it hard to care anymore
I know of standing in the surf
And feeling a crab run across my toes
And a jellyfish sweep past my calves
And tiny fish peck inquisitively
I know of mosquitoes
And still nights
When I lay on a quilt in my yard
Watching the stars wink and sparkle
And the moon on its journey
And I want to be up there
On my own feathered wings
Or on silver ones
I know of many restaurants
I know River Street and all its bars
I used to know all the names of Lisa’s goats
But my head can’t contain what I still know
It is focused on the other
And I have to get back
Turn again, stalwart
Because that’s how I repair myself
Nobody is unhappy forever
No one is always happy
It’s ups and downs
And rounds and rounds
And I what I want is immaterial
Faster
Faster still
If you could just
Sit
You get one trip
Make it count
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
When my dog was dying
And I was conflicted
About easing his way
I was told not to rush
That he would let me know
There would be signs
I would know when
And some time later
After multiple frantic trips
To the vet
For treatment
After agonizing breaths
After deterioration of spirit
After one sleepless night
I decided I wouldn’t wait on The Sign
I wouldn’t wait for The Look
I had a Brain
And I could determine
Together with my eyes
That he was suffering
And he wasn’t getting better
When there are more bad days than good
It is time
Even though he ate a biscuit
Just that morning
Even though he trotted to the car
In anticipation of a road trip
Even though
He didn’t want to get out at the vet
There was dignity in his passing
Because
It was time
And it hurt till it didn’t
But I knew it was the right thing
To do by him
For him
And now
When I look back at pictures
And I see his pleading eyes
I just hope
I didn’t wait too long
As I wasted time
Looking for a sign
When the truth was right in front of me
The whole time
Are you awake?
I want to tell you something
I couldn’t write about it
Back when
It was too painful
And writing is reliving
But I remember
A wise friend said
You don’t love who he is
You love who you thought he was
Who he used to be
And she was right
I needed that clarity
I needed that insight
There were lots of things I needed
But nothing from him
I bought gutter guards
After scaling the roof once
Just to say I’d done it
I hated how long it took
For me to realize
My strength
My character
Which never failed me
I knew myself
I knew my happiness
Wasn’t solely dependent on him
I knew my happiness
Came from me
And what I enjoyed
And nothing was ever the same after
That moment
It got better
I healed
And I came back to life
Sparklier than before
I like to think
But with wisdom to sprinkle
With grace
Everywhere
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
Edited to add from my favorite, Sturgill Simpson.
If you need a friend
Don’t look to a stranger
You know in the end, I’ll always be there
But when you’re in doubt
And when you’re in danger
Take a look all around, and I’ll be there
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
But if you wait around a while, I’ll make you fall for me
I promise, I promise you I will
When your day is through
And so is your temper
You know what to do
I’m gonna always be there
Sometimes if I shout
It’s not what’s intended
These words just come out
With no gripe to bear
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
But if you wait around a while, I’ll make you fall for me
I promise, I promise you I will
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
And if I had to walk the world, I’d make you fall for me
I promise you, I promise you I will
I gotta tell you
Need to tell you
Gotta tell you
I’ve gotta tell you
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
But if you wait around a while, I’ll make you fall for me
I promise, I promise you
I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be
And if I had to walk the world, I’d make you fall for me
I promise you, I promise you I will
I will
I will
