afternoon, July 17

Weird how the darkness creeps into the light. I’m surrounded by the sounds of summer, by blue sky and all things green. But red and magenta run down my fingers as the canvas bleeds my reflection and stains these keys. A shade closes in around the crimson surface and squeezes the life out of the view from my chair on the back porch.


I’ve dragged myself into a cold, dark room and have escaped into soft pillows and sheets. Maybe when I wake, the shadows will be gone.







This is the third post written by Mr. Hokeah that I’ve shared this week. I’m not up for writing much lately, so since this particular post hits the nail on the head, why not share?


“How Awful Goodness Is”: Novel Writing from Unseen Places

A bit after midnight, Friday a.m.

I’ve discovered that if I drink a lot of rum in the evening I don’t sleep well during the night. It’s a weirdly comfy conscious state of rest that mimics sleep, dreams and all, but is as much the awakeness that I feel most any other time of day.

I haven’t been staying up late much this summer. In the early morning hours I sit on the back porch in the cool breeze and drink coffee. About an hour later I climb back in bed and sleep for real.

Some days I am productive during conventional waking hours, but regardless of whether I justify taking up space and breathing and whatnot for those few hours of daylight, I always end the evening with a rum cocktail or two or four, and most of the time the rum flows all day, usually from the same coffee mug I drank out of on the back porch that morning.

I’m going to take a break from the news for a while. I tend to binge and purge information. The purging generally follows the realization that nothing I read is reliable. I read all viewpoints (which sadly are exactly two) from many sources boasting absolute truths, and the unrelenting clamor from opposing sides cancels the noise until the information fades into a six-feet-deep hole.

I should also stop playing games on my phone. The problem, which I’ve been aware of for some time now and have maybe even mentioned is that I have so many things I have time for lately that I do none of it. Overload, you know. It’s easier to hide under pillows and blankets than to pick one activity.

I should go for a walk around the new neighborhood. I have yet to do that. Shame.

Maybe tonight I’ll read more of one of the many abandoned books I have started at one time or another. Or maybe I’ll find something interesting on Netflix.

In any case, nighty nite.


I’m feeling more alone than ever. The irony is that if I had no one around, if I lived by myself with no one to call and talk to, I’d be okay. Living alone with people around is soul crushing. But I’ve felt this way my entire life, so I should be used to it by now. I’m not.

the scent of moonlight

Mozart is writing this one tonight. He’s playing these keys with my fingers.

I’m deeply enveloped in summer like I’ve sunk into the center of an infinitely squishy mattress. I can’t sense anything between August and May. No residual anything. No trepidation for what’s ahead. There is nothing ahead and nothing behind. There is only fluffy summer.

I planted a gardenia bush in a large pot early in the spring. The rain and heavy, wet heat have woken the aroma of white blossoms on that little bush. I go outside now and then to breathe in the sweet air. The rest of the time I’m in my big front room, organizing papers, attaching, labeling, planning. The room still smells like sandalwood even though I haven’t burned incense in there in several weeks.


Old kitty has gotten into the habit of nudging her way under the blanket in the morning. She and I make a tent, and I pet her in the soft yellow glow. I think she looks forward to those 20 minutes of the day more than any of the other minutes of her 24-hour routine.

I’m happy that I look forward to any part of the day; I sort of dance through the moments lately. I needed to break free of this world’s leash for a while. Don’t we all?

Close your eyes.