There’s no point in weeping if there’s no one around to share the tears with.

The Internet of things has ruined me. It creates an unnecessary and unfounded paranoia.
Why do I find the need to Google my first two lines, when 15 years ago, it would not even be a thought? Is it the fear of writing something similar and then being accused of stealing? I am not asking the reader per say. I pose the question for my own analysis and to record the events that led up to this very moment.
Whether I want to believe it or not, there is an immeasurable amount of information swimming around my subconscious; and it’s because of this, that I must fight the urge to use the Internet as a resource to check my thoughts. They are my thoughts and I extracted them out of my head. TRY AND PROVE IT ANY OTHER WAY!
Well, there are always doubters and haters. Is there a correlation with doubters and doers that failed to realize their goals. The comments are out there. I have read them.
“I...

Hey, do you like manga?

What’s manga?

What’s manga? Did you really just ask me that?

Yea. What’s manga?

Are you for real? Manga are comics created in Japan conforming to a style developed in Japan in the late 19th century. They have a long and complex pre-history in earlier Japanese art.

In Japan, people of all ages read manga. The medium includes works in a broad range of genres: action-adventure, romance, sports and games, historical drama, comedy, science fiction and fantasy, mystery, suspense, detective, horror, sexuality, and business/commerce, among others. Since the 1950s–

Wait. That sounds like something from Wikipedia.

Maybe it is. I don’t have to quote it. You can’t quote it. It’s Wikipedia. It wouldn’t even go on a references page.

References page? What is this high school.

Yeah, MLA, mofo. Recognize.

Dude, you’re weird.

I’m weird? You’re weird. You don’t even know...

Just published new eBook to Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Just a silly moment:

I was talking to a man today while loitering around a gas station. He was telling me about the last time he took a bath, which apparently was several weeks ago. He got very visual in his description. I was polite and let him speak, just listening to the ramblings. He told me the thing he misses most about baths is the bubbles that he makes with his farts, which got me wondering.

When some farts underwater, something physical is released, even though it may be microscopic. Well, it’s alive when released. When that bubble forms, that cell or whatever it’s called is trapped inside the transparent, smelly wonder. It’s a tiny, smelly island full of life and contained inside of a container for all to see. Isn’t that grand?

I still carry a small notepad and pen, but that is not my primary means of documentation. I carry a mobile typewriter, aka tablet.

Because of our technological marvels, well, let me correct myself and say the world’s technological marvels, I am able to see millions of tiny bits of information and I am also able to document thoughts without worrying about the integrity of my pen and paper. I have multiple platforms to save my information on, in case I were to accidentally delete a string of info using one of them.

Paper only lasts as long as it’s allowed to exist based on the environment which it lives. Binary backup could be infinite, allowing a guaranteed “just in case” approach to notes, drawings, and stories.

I use a tablet because I don’t have the luxury of a desktop computer or a smartphone full of fancy digital wizardry. I use a tablet because it only cost $55 from a pawn shop...

Maybe the question should have been phrased better before you sent it, but I will attempt to answer.

This question is directed towards my book, HANDYS, FLY SWATTERS, AND THE HOMELESS. Let me say this. Trash can be discarded, thrown away. I suppose the same applies to digital trash, which can be deleted or recycled.

My intent was not to write trash, but to illustrate (with words) short episodes that are a part of a large to very large story.

Yes, there are some graphic moments; but life is nothing but an endless string of these moments, which sometimes occur in both private and public environments.

Everyone is a critic, so if you find my products “trashy,” then godspeed to you in your other endeavors.

Simple answer: I write it because I can.

I met him two years ago on a stale night as I strode south on Jefferson Avenue. I had just passed a corner mart, the Shop and something. A haggard man jumped out and growled at me. At first, I thought he was going to rob or attack me, but he quickly calmed down. I tried to talk to him, but he remained quiet for an awkward five minutes or so. He started to speak at a rapid pace. He told me his peculiar name and ranted about the government and how he wasn’t receiving his disability checks. All I could do was listen. Then he spoke the words that I have kept with me since then: “Walking is overrated. Show those fucks how badass you are.”

It was a simple, yet complex statement. It was nonsensical, but clear at the same time. I still cannot explain it, and I haven’t seen him since.