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Archive for the tag “iPhone5S”

You Can’t Say Bad Things about the Good Things

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Some people keep a journal.  I keep notes.  No, literally, I keep things I’ve written… short things, sometimes super short things… on my phone, in the notes app.  Things like the title of this post,

“You can’t say bad things about the good things.”

Well, you could.  But that would make you a real dick. 

At least that’s what I tell the voices in my head, when I’m mocking them.  The voices can be, and often are, real dicks.  Which is why, as I said in my previous post, I mock them.  Because, while these voices deserve to be heard, when they’re done, they deserve to be put in their place.  Most often, that place is in a roaring dumpster fire of mockery and ridicule.

But sometimes, the voices find their way into the notes.

About a third or so of the poems I’ve written for publication began in the notes.  Like I’ve told many people on multiple occasions, I write my poetry NOT on paper with a pencil or a pen, but from beginning to end on my laptop.  I have no idea why.  I just remember the first… okay, probably not the first, but the most memorable… time it happened.  A flash of really shitty emotions, and the worst burst of lying voices I ever heard, and the moment those 15 seconds of hell had passed, I opened my laptop, and wrote.

 

“Brains on the bathroom floor,

gloating

Consciousness above me,

Floating.

Despair at life,

Unlived.

Responsibility,

Relieved.

Bucket made of bone,

a sieve.

Whispers of all doubt,

believed.”

 

In the time it took me to say, “fuck you” to the lying voices, a poem was born in the place of sorrow.  And from then on, at the very moment the voices, good or bad, speak, a note gets made.  And yeah, maybe an angel gets his wings.  I’m really not completely clear on that.  But the point is, whether bad things or good, for this reason, I make a note of it.

It’s these notes, including that almost ten-year-old poem, which became a book.  Notes that are about to become a second.  And so, whether or not the beginning of these notes began as a bad thing, they turned into a very good thing.  And that was the point of all this history.  To remember the good, and make notes.  Lots of them.  Because you can’t say bad things about the good things.

Well, you could.  But that would make you a real dick.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Bookcase 

The photo of a bookcase is a story. But the sketch of a bookcase a dream.  

What your bookcase says about you is more accurate than your bathroom medicine chest. More intimate than your sock drawer. More real than your worst nightmare. A habitation of ghosts, telling strangers about the who you once were, and the who you have become. 

But it is in the absence of books, in that space occupied by the future, where your one true story lives. In those books yet to be read, and yet to take their place with the ghosts of the past. 

And now, a question for the reader…

What books fill your bookcase like ghosts from your past, and what books would you like to have join them?

 

 © Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

Easy


Easy. 

Like a walk to the corner store for a six-pack and pretzels. But someone burned the corner store to the ground and didn’t tell you about it till you got there, then stuck a gun in your back and said,

“Gimme all your beer money, fool!”

So you walk home. 

Easy. 

But that same someone burned your house to the ground and didn’t tell you about it till you got there, then stuck a gun in your back and said,

“Now gimme your pretzel money, fool!”

Easy. 

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday 

The Right Thing 

  

Doing the 

right thing 

has got me 

nothing 

Maybe a bit 

(of a 

good thing 

for others) 

But I’m 

still waiting 

for something 

to show 

for it 

c 2015 Bill Friday 

Canary

  

Like a 

canary 

in a 

coal mine 

Always 

someone’s 

early warning 

Laugh

  

Today I discovered that 

I have a certain 

particular laugh

that only comes out of me

when I really want to cry

c 2015 Bill Friday

The Sorrow, The Joy

  

My future 

is learned from 

my past.

To remember 

(the sorrow of)

what failed,

is to remember 

(the joy of)

what succeeded. 

And in both I am told

all I need

for tomorrow. 

c Copyright 2015 Bill Friday 

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