Month: November 2015

It’s Friday night and I’m at “the home”. We’ll call it “the home” for now because it’s where I spend most of my week nights and weekends. No, it’s not my boyfriend’s pad. It’s a secluded place. A home away from home where chaos and peace come together all at once. A place to escape reality and also face it all at once. And I’ve always been a fan of all things paradox. And it’s where I do most of my writing. Where I get all my mojo back after a long day at work.

So as I’m laying down, the sound of Naomi and Ely’s No Kiss List coming from the telly, I’m getting a bit melancholic as per usual. The story sounds a bit too familiar. But I’m not getting into that now.

So, as I stay in tonight, I felt that Marie Momentum needed a touch of personal sentiment and a little venting wouldn’t kill nobody. The peaceful and shimmering skyline and reminiscing on a recent conversation during a morning coffee rendez-vous with an old friend earlier this week gave me the insight for this post. If you’re bored on a Friday night, jump in and read a thing or two about yours truly. This may be the last personal post I ever write.

Continue reading “Loopholes with lessons and the fear of change” →

“sometimes when everything seems at

its worst
when all conspires
and gnaws
and the hours, days, weeks
years
seem wasted –
stretched there upon my bed
in the dark
looking upward at the ceiling
i get what many will consider an
obnoxious thought:
it’s still nice to be
Bukowski.” ― Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense

Good ol’ Buk never seizes to amaze me. Even in the littlest of things. Like this excerpt.

If you’re wondering why grammar isn’t Chuck’s priority, some say that he just felt like his narrative “seemed” better like so. Others say the use of lower case is to emphasize a point just as well as that of the upper case.

I believe it gives it a melancholic connotation.

Forever I love you, Charles Bukowski.

MM

“If you’re not feeling any better by Friday,” she said, “the issue may be deeper than what it seems to be now: so typical, an asshole-caused semi depression.”

“Oh dear,” replied Jolene, “the issue is already deep as is. Nothing hurts more than a half truth. A half lie hurts, but the truth is still lingering behind it. The reasons for it not being summoned upon may vary, but the possibility of it still being there, behind the darkness of the lie, exists.”

“Au contraire,” Jolene continued, “a half truth is only told to temporarily ease the aching soul. Eventually, it reaches the marrow. It putrefies the veins. And with it, a reminder of it depicts itself with a scar so obvious after – and if – it heals it is almost impossible not to notice. A half truth will always be worse than not knowing at all.”

Continue reading “Jolene’s Half Truth – Excerpt from “Shadows Of The Longing”” →