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Archive for the tag “blog”

To Walk Down a Dead-End Street

dead end

As an introvert with comically low

self-esteem,

I have made some truly awful

choices in my life.

But writing isn’t one of them. 

It’s true that a life of

settling for less along the path of least resistance

has given me

a point of view most successful creative folk never see,

and I can write from that view

as easily as breathe. 

But there is still

something missing,

and I don’t mean something missing from my

smalltime life. 

I mean something missing from my

genetic code

that enables others to whisper a resolute “fuck it”,

and move onto the

places where few go,

and fewer survive. 

I have always been,

for less than better,

and often far worse than that,

one who only moves forward with

a wall at his back,

and this time is no different. 

But it is

forward I must go,

because the only right direction to walk

down a dead-end street

is out.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Teach Me

teach me png

Teach me to laugh,

and you’ll teach me to cry. 

Teach me to think,

and you’ll teach me to die. 

Hold it against me,

and you’ll teach me to lie. 

Forgive me for all,

and I’ll only ask why.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Starting and Starting Over

walking backwards png

Starting, and starting over, is not the same thing.  They are as different as walking forward, and walking forward, backwards.  Not as clearly different as starting and stopping.  If it was, then you would have no trouble telling them apart.  But make no mistake; people do have trouble telling them apart.

Starting is that thing we do at the beginning of some something we have not done.  Starting over is that thing we do when some something stops us, but just long enough for us to think that maybe we have not really stopped at all.

It is understandable when those who have never really started a something, and seen it to its end, don’t know.  Most books don’t teach it, and most folks have never lived it.  It’s a mystery, on the lines of accepted but incomprehensible things like the laws of gravity, and thermodynamics.  But whether or not someone knows what those names are names for, ask them if a satellite or even a shooting star could fall to earth, and they nod and say, of course those things are true.

And this is where I say that, because those laws say that a body in motion tends to stay in motion, and a body at rest tends to stay at rest, the very same thing can be equally true about the path of a human life, lived in this human world, often at the mercy of the most human of circumstances.

Speed bumps are formed.  Detours are made.  Shit happens.  And sometimes, those obstacles stop the beautiful movement of a body in motion, until it becomes a body at unintended rest.

Have you ever tried to give a falling star a shove to get it back on its course through the heavens?  It’s not as easy as it sounds.  In fact, it’s damn fucking impossible.  Yet when a very human body, with all its complexities of motion and emotion, loses its path through the glory of this world, it is no more easily shoved back on course than the star that fell from the sky.

But we still ask of those who lost all their momentum, sometimes well-intentioned, sometimes with a critical intent, why can’t you just start over?

Maybe it’s in the way they’re walking.  And maybe you’ve been fooled, because you haven’t noticed that they’re walking forward, backwards.  And maybe in walking backwards, they are slowed by looking at the past that was; their past, lost to the speed bumps, the detours, and the shit of something that no longer is, and not the new that waits behind their back, right over their shoulder.  Not in starting over, but in turning around and starting brand new.

So in the same way you would look into the night sky and at the stars within it, look closely at the shining stars before you, and understand.  Because starting over is never easy, and they are doing the best that they can.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

End of Shift

end-of-shift-pic

Counting down the minutes till

the end of shift

is a lot like counting down the

minutes till

the end of life. 

Except you know where you’re going

when your shift ends,

and how to get there. 

You’ve planned for it. 

You even have things

waiting for you for

when you arrive,

like macaroni and cheese

and a cold beer. 

Unlike the end of your life,

when you hope there’s

a nice place for you to settle into,

that the fridge is stocked with

all your favorite things,

and that the

building management isn’t blasting

‘70s pop songs from

the speakers in the elevator

headed for the basement,

where you know the air conditioning is

sketchy at best.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

The Gift of Universe Song

the-gift-of-universe-song

Give no love to the poet. 

This frail,

flaming human,

is not the gift of

universe song,

sent to rain life down on

all who thirst. 

Nor the giver,

that he might interpret. 

Flawed,

the object of the

world’s affection,

nothing more than a

splintered leaking bucket in

the rain-eternal. 

Well-placed in

time and space

to hold for a moment,

that which all

who thirst,

find. 

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

The Accidental Prophet

the-prophet-chuck

“A wish is not a goal, and hope is not a plan.”

I have a friend, a very close friend, who says that whenever I speak of the future, I already know what’s going to happen.  One year.  Five years.  Ten.  Every step and every stage, all mapped out, in my head and then, into words.  Thoughtful.  Methodical.  Concise.

Except I swear that, every time it happens, I have no conscious idea that what I’ve just said is, in fact, a plan.

So unbelieving am I that, after my friend who hears recites my future future back to me, I am left scrunch-faced, my head shaking, saying, “What are you talking about?  That wasn’t a plan, that was just wishful thinking.”  And yet, in the two years of our friendship, apparently, I’ve never been wrong. 

And it pisses me off every time.

It would seem that I hate being right.

If I were to put it in terms that I could understand, I would call myself, “The Accidental Prophet”. 

Over the last year alone, I called my shot about creating a job out of two other jobs so that I would have all the time in the world to sit undisturbed and, on company time, with the boss’ blessing, write another book.  That happened.  Before that, I called my shot about taking ten years of chicken-scratched poems, and publishing a first book.  That happened, too.  Somewhere in between the first book and the job, I said something about creating a publishing company and, yeah… yeah… whatever.

Now, says my friend, I’ve been saying things again.  Future kind of things.  The kind that, if you were to ask me, I wouldn’t call anything more than a few nice ideas.  A wish here, a hope there.  Just spitballing into the wind.  And if I didn’t have the big-eared friend with the over-developed sense interpreting irony in all its forms, I might dismiss these, too. 

Except now, I can’t.  Because I know better than to argue with a plan, even when I don’t know it’s a plan until comes true.

And all I can say right now is, if it’s true, 2017 is going to be a hell of a year.  And if none of it comes true, well like I said, I hate being right, so I’ll be the first to tell you I was wrong. But if by accident I was right, I’ll be writing another one of these next year. 

Complete with the “I told you so” from my friend who hears.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Serialized Cyber Screed

overthinking-it

This is a make or break proposition for me.

You see, I lack the “boldness gene” so commonly found in other people.  Not really sure why.  You’d think some equivalent could have been programmed into me at an early enough age so that, by now, no one would be able to tell the difference, least of all me.

So here I sit, facing a keyboard, words just spilling out of me like raw sewage during a flood run-off, while I hear voices in my head, both creative and destructive.  The creative ones assure me that whatever it is I slap on the page will be something worth reading.  The destructive ones assure me that no one will give a pair of shits about it.

And I know which voices usually win.

But this time, and possibly because of the 11 cups of coffee I’ve had since I woke up today, or maybe because I always feel an overcompensating hopefulness after my fourth and last 14 hour shift of the week, that for right this minute… and this minute only… I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.

Blog.

I know, if you’re reading this, you probably write one.  I have one, but don’t.  Not in the truest meaning of that made-up word.  Blog.  Weblog.  Serialized Cyber Screed.  Not to denigrate the medium or anything but, as humans, we mock what we don’t understand, right?  We know it’s wrong, but we do it anyway.  Hell, I’m mocking myself, right now.  But as a writer… as an author… maybe the only thing that keeps me from falling into the quicksand of isolation is the mockery of introspection.  Wherein I bang on the keys like I’m having a conversation with myself, and a few friends read it. 

Knee-deep in their own quicksand.

So I’m gonna try this again.  Blog.  Weblog.  Just a conversation with myself, every so often, where the voices in my head battle it out for Cyber Screed Supremacy.  And I have the right to mock them, for your enjoyment.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Showstopper

l-cohen

Darkness isn’t darkness if you 

look in the light

I never know when I’m gonna

feel alright

Blind for a lifetime

Now the end is in sight

Once I woulda quit

but now I’m in for the fight

Once I woulda quit

but now I’m in for the fight

So let’s all sing a 

Hallelujah tonight

Let’s all sing a

Hallelujah tonight

 

(written on November 6th, 2016, for Leonard Cohen)

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

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