What’s the Definition of Failure (PENN STATE)?


Word’s been on my mind since early this morning.  Sick to my stomach after I read grand jury testimony relating to the Penn State University scandal, day got off to an ominous start.

Thought I saw a reflection of me at my worst two hours later… just my youngest displaying some of what I gave her via osmosis or DNA.

Took a problem at work to an involved party who was 100% focused on resolution… until she recognized she didn’t have culpability after all.

I tried to be happy all day… sadness hung like I was Bad Luck Schlep Rock (don’t act like you didn’t watch “The Flintstones”).

Failure is difficult to define.  Varies from person-to-person, inherently subjective often elective… we can choose to fail.  I can write pretty words, make ’em flow and all that.  Can’t put my finger on a single reason why but today felt like “failure”….I felt like a failure.  Couldn’t tell you why to save my life…

(Swear to God I only figured it out during the editorial process… it becomes apparent if you keep reading…)

I know failure when I see it:

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Big Man’s Bad Date Adventure #1, Part II

This is the continuation from part I, the following won’t make sense unless you read that one first.  Then again it still doesn’t make sense to me and I was there.

Where did we leave off?  Oh yes, I was in the midst of ignoring obvious red flags because a certain smaller anatomical area had hijacked the brain and was off on a selfish mission of  conquest.

Should I have taken her somewhat paranoid, delusional statements as a hint?  Does the fact that I used “somewhat” in the last sentence tell you anything at all?  Yes, I’m defensive.  So what if I’m trying to minimize my hormones impact on this debacle?

And the restaurant wasn’t so bad once I got past the nutty bits.  Have you ever heard of anyone spending FIFTEEN DOLLARS on a sushi date?  Well you have now… SERIOUSLY!  $11 on a rainbow roll, $2.50 for her Diet Coke… she had 2 bites of the roll then said she was full!  Gave ’em a $20 and didn’t ask for change back.  Girl thought I was the man.

I was reeling her in, had her crazy ass just where I wanted her!

…or so I thought  😦

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Big Man’s Bad Date Adventure #1, Part I

Here’s why I go to the gym ONLY to work out, trying to get some cutie’s digits never enters my mind.

Not anymore, anyway.

I SWEAR that this is a true story and by the time I get through you’ll understand that there’s only one person on the planet who would admit to being a participant.

Crap like this only happens to me.

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Ride It Out

The following are thoughts that played out in my head this evening.  Seriously.  Same voices that bring poems and stories become dark and twisted… or perhapsI’m in need of psychiatric care.


Why not?  Haven’t met a good therapist in years, I’m overdue.


It used to be all self-hate but I’ve evolved to the point where it nosedives at first (like always) then pulls up soon after.


Tonight was the first time it happened like this, though…


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What do you do when you don’t feel it, when creating art feels like 10 parts chore, 0 parts joy?


I’ve only written one blog in the past week so what should I do?  Try to force something out that will make the stats climb again, build interest, blah blah blah?


The truth is that I’m not that interested right now.  I mean, I am but there’s big wide world (of sports?) out there to explore and I sat in the house for the better part of a year.  It’s time to live, go on adventures, find inspiration that will fuel the writing.


Which means that it isn’t  time to write some transparent, paper-thin crap that feels like a reach at best.  All my artist friends will be able to relate to the following:


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Good News + Bad News + Bad News = “Small Things to a Giant”

Good News:


I’m so wired into my story that I’m writing 200-400 words per session on my lunch break, jump right into it like Scotty’s beaming me up.



Bad News:


It’s pretty much the only time I touch the story, I’m beginning to forget LITTLE DETAILS, AND I’m about to fall behind schedule on my self-imposed finish date…




Confident that it’s all happening as it should, though.



More Bad News:



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Too Close to Home

I planned on keeping this one to myself.  That was the plan.  But throwing a poem out there with no explanation is kinda “bleh”.


“Hey, here’s my new blog… care about the novel I’ve almost finished even though most of you haven’t seen any of it… here’s a concert review about a band you might not care about and a couple of poems sans introduction or explanation about the self-created hell I was going through so that you too might be able to relate and go ‘pssh, been there!'”


I ain’t that arrogant.  Well…


And so much for keeping this one to myself.


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