"going to the edge and back, one word at a time."
The fifth post I published (#5 out of 87) on this now one year and eight month fiction, nonfiction, and poetic blogging journey of mine was titled The Aged and the Ageless (feel free to click and read). It was posted a couple of months before Covid became a global issue. Since then, as well as …
Remember when you scraped your knee as a kid? Hit the 'not so funny' bone on your elbow as an adolescent? Delivered a paper cut to your finger as an adult? Had your heart broken, like blind sided shattered, not the type of break when you keep taking back the same waste of time that …
I remember her and I know she remembers me and we will continue to do so forever. There is no other way for us to live. I could try to forget her or her me, but I know I will fail so what am I to do except breathe and curse the air that continues …
Is this where I have to run so I can be completely honest with myself? Do I have to fluff my three pillows and down comforter and lay my body between the world and the unwashed sheets of the paper bed that I call my journal? Is this where I can sincerely share my thoughts …
My second born son - where do I begin? He was delivered to us some time ago, a forever that was only yesterday, by cesarian section. The day before his arrival, I remember the phone call I received from my wife while I was at work. She went for a weekly check up because the …
The first person to shave away all their pubic hair - what were they thinking? Did they just wake up one morning, sip a cup of coffee, turn on the tele, stare at the sunrise through their blinds, eat a bowl of cereal, and say to themselves, hey, I want to get rid of the …
Hearing the scratching (We are the floor we feel,) of finger nailing the backing, (our unfrozen terrain remains unfrayed) while smelling the necking (as we explore the sacred friction of now.) and rubbing the skinning. Listening to the whispering (We slay the nights unseen) of lipping the lobing, (into tiny slices of salty slumber,) while …
There was this boy. He grew up in the rural South. He drank Pepsi Cola from glass bottles. He ate Nabs. He worked in tobacco fields at the age of twelve. He dreamed. His imagination was his escape. It was his portal. At a young age, he knew other realms existed. You just had to …
Interviewer : Hello Vernon. It's nice to have you with us today. Thank you for being here. Vernon : Glad to be here. Honored, honestly. Interviewer : So, you have neared your one year anniversary of blogging. Tell us how this journey began for you. Vernon : I can remember it like it was yesterday. …
As Thanksgiving week dawns upon us, I think back over the past several months. I have seen things and people around me go from being oblivious, to being scared, to being quarantined, to being put on lockdown, to being full of rage, to being opened up in stages, to operating at some type of face-masked …
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