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Archive for the tag “NanoPoblano”

Living the Life

Day 3 of Nano Poblano, and the idea of a morning teleconference with authors was made just a little better with a proper writing prompt. 




I’m a free agent now.

          You’ve always been one, kiddo.

          You’re an outlier.

          That’s lonelier than a minority group.

Then I am at liberty to say “fuck you” to the world.


          That’s what poetry is.

And I’m going to have one hell of a next decade for poetry.

          I’m betting on it.


© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

What I Want


Election Day



November 8, 2016.  A date that will… a date that…

A date.

At the time of my writing this, it is the night before.  More accurately, the overnight before the morning of.  And as overnights before mornings of have a way of doing, I am left with my thoughts.  And the silence to think them.

And to write.

Thought number one…

In the mid-twentieth century, there was a man, a one-time German minister named Martin Niemöller, who became widely known for a quote that was an acknowledgement of the apathy of German citizens under the Third Reich, and Adolf Hitler.  This is the quote…

“First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.”

What Niemöller succinctly told the Post World War II world, at every opportunity, was that he, and all German citizens of the 1930’s and 1940’s, were culpable for the actions of those in power… power that was, at first, voted into existence by those very same citizens.  And while most of those citizens did not… could not… know at the time that they were turning over the reins of their government to what would be forever known throughout history as Nazi Germany, turn it over they did.  Again and again, with every act of cowardice that showed itself merely in their perpetual indecision.

Until, as Niemöller said, “…there was no one left to speak for me.”

Multiple millions of people, inside and outside of Germany, were tortured, starved, and murdered as the result of something as simple as saying, “Nah, I’m safe.”

Until they were next.

Thought number two…

In the early twenty-first century, who are the Socialists?  Who are the Trade Unionists?  Who are the Jews?  Not literal Socialists, Trade Unionists, or Jews.  But their figurative, metaphorical descendants.  Because every great country in the world has them.  Unpopular for many reasons with those who might have been here longer and reaped the benefits of that not-so-subtle favoritism based on nothing more than tenure, and beating the biological roulette wheel of unearned opportunity.

What if, one day, we who are still here are required to endure the words of a modern-day Martin Niemöller?  And what complicity will he, or she, be calling us to account for?

Because today is election day.  And for our choices, we all will be held to account.  So, will we who are still alive be culpable for in a second mass citizen apathy?  Shown culpable for our allowance of the following…

“First, they came for the Liberals, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Liberal.

Then, they came for the Working Poor, and I did not speak out, because I was not the Working Poor.

Then they came for the Brown, and I did not speak out, because I was not Brown.

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.”

Thought number three…

I am a writer.  That means that, if I’m doing it right, I take concepts that people talk about every day, and turn them into words that cause people to think, and then live accordingly.

Today is Election Day.  That day, every four years, when it is the right, the privilege, the duty, of every citizen, to act on what they know, and then vote accordingly.

History has been kind to all who, anonymously, stood with those who’s tragic ends came at the hands of unjust rulers.  History will again be kind to those who, anonymously, by secret ballot, stand with those who’s tragic end is in their hands to prevent.  To act on what they know, and then vote accordingly.

And see to it that one Martin Niemöller was enough.

Now vote.


© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday


Everybody’s Shit Stinks

Whether attitude or actual, metaphor or literal, in prose or rhyming couplets great or small…

With a certitude among those who, for good or ill, agree…

Observed in one’s behavior, mercurial, or philosophy, obscure, a truth which should be obvious to all…

That in this world of humankind, there is one fact, indisputable, thinks not just me…

Everybody’s shit stinks. 

 © Copyright 2016 William S. Friday






“Life is beauty, under a shitheap of hope.”


I believe in life. And I am not deaf, dumb, or blind. Though I have tried to be all three, sometimes all at once. Yet the beauty, it turns out, is most often found buried beneath the ugliest things. Cloaked. Straining to be seen. Unrecognized. As we turn away, convinced it cannot be there.  

But life, and hope, are eternal. And so is the beauty, covered by a shitheap. Waiting. 


© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday 



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




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. 


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!”



© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday 


30 Days of Night: #NaBloPoMo on the Graveyard Shift

30-days-pngIt’s been one year.

Three-hundred-sixty-five days, plus one leap day, and a couple thousand cups of coffee, since the last time I stared November in the face. 

And the first time November stared right back.

One year ago tonight, I got lost in something so frightening that, until I lived to see the end of it, I had always been too shaken by the very idea to even let myself speak its name.


To be asked, no… forced, to go through an experience so life-altering that some I once called friends never recovered.  Just 30 days on a calendar that, coincidentally, begin in the still quiet hours of All Hallows Eve.  When deals are done with whatever tells grown men and women that everything will be okay, if they just keep their hands and feet tucked inside the covers at night.

The name that, if you’re a writer, you know.

NaBloPoMo.  The writer’s boogeyman.

And every writer knows that, on All Hallows Eve, you can’t kill the boogeyman.

So here I am, one year later, and the boogeyman is back.  Only this time, he only comes out at night.  This year, very unlike last year, the world… my world… is lived from dusk till dawn.  And I write for the boogeyman on the graveyard shift, in November, during 30 days of night.

And for those of you who write in the safety of the day, NaBloPoMo is just another word.  Like sunshine, or coffee.  But for those of us who live to write at night, well…

It’s waiting.


*for a Facebook LIVE reading of this post, CLICK HERE.


© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday    


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