For Fox…

I know this is late… Time differences… and such… can’t blame it all on the world spinning though… I’m known for being late… so some of it… I guess is on me… 

Happy Birthday Fox….

At Their Mercy
“All men are at the mercy of their women. They like to pretend they are big and strong, complete in some way. Men like to portray that they need no one, but in reality, they need someone. Writers are no different. Writer’s need someone more than any other type of person. Behind every great story is an even great heartache.” I take a sip from my glass. “So, who broke your heart then?” She smiles. “Whom,” I say before looking away, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen all of their faces yet. Let alone know their names.” She laughs, her breasts jiggle as she pretends to be amused by my charm. “You are good,” she smiles. This is how it begins.

Something smashes against the wall. Doesn’t matter what. All that matters is that it lies in pieces at my feet. A losing battle with no real winner. Most are once it gets to this point. This point of not caring about personal things. Everything is a weapon if you let it be. Random objects are no different. Her words much of the same. “You are a piece of shit. You know that don’t you? I hope you know that. It was that girl down the hall wasn’t it? With her tight ass and sexy ways.” Always with the accusations never any facts. Digging and scratching for anything until the lies become truth. For once I’d like to be presented with some truth. Though truthfully I wonder if the girl down the hall is seeing anyone. “You know I used to be sexy. Until I met you. Then you fattened me up to the point you didn’t want me anymore.” There could be some truth in there, but I’m not sure what parts at the moment. I stay silent. Past experiences tell me to stay silent. When she is calm I can leave. I dodge yet another object. It crashes into the wall. This time leaving a hole where it now sits. “You are an asshole. You used me all up and now you want to leave me? I won’t let you. You’re not leaving me because I’m leaving your cheating ass.” More things fly. That’s all they are, are things. Words and things. For some that is all they have. They work for things, to get more things, to break those said things.

“You have nothing to say for yourself? Of course you don’t. All your real emotions go into those stupid stories of yours. Your worthless piece of shit stories. You are a horrible writer. You know that?” I must be getting pretty good to derive this much emotion. Maybe I am ready for the world? “You pretend to be all profound, but that’s just it. You are a pretender. You pretend like you give a shit and you pretend like you can fuck. But you know what asshole? You can’t, so I hope little miss whatever the fuck likes going to bed wondering when a real man is showing up. Because the Lord knows I’m still waiting.” Still I say nothing. Though I want her now more than ever. I don’t take the bait. I would have been gone by now, but you never turn your back on a wounded animal. Never, I’ve got the scars to prove it. “Jesus. Nothing, still nothing?” A long silence filled only with her heavy breathing. “Just get out. Get out of here already.” I pack quickly. No use taking things I don’t need. That was the point of all of this. Getting rid of the things I don’t need.

I make my way out the door and down the street. I make my way to yet another bar. Passing the familiar places I call home. Each one filled with too many women who have heard too many of my lines. They are getting stale. The lines sound cheap in my head and even cheaper out of my mouth. I enter this new place. By new I mean one I haven’t been to recently. She sits at the end of the bar. Not my typical type but in desperate times what is a man to do? She pretends to be uninterested and I have found my way in. It is easy to find yet another one I can take a hold of. Because all men are at the mercy of their women, but really all women are at the mercy of their men.

 

Hopefully you enjoyed this tale… heavily inspired by Bukowski… and bad times… Have a wonderful birthday… 

Ambrose… 

No Idea If Anyone Cares… But Here It Comes

So last month I talked about the books and films that have inspired me or inspire me as a writer. Those two things are high impact on my overall attempt to bring you something half decent. The most influential form of art though is music. I hint on the during my long-winded post about film and how I see each scene with music or soundtracks or something. I don’t actually pay attention to myself so what I said I have no idea, but I’m sure it is close enough to what I may or may not have said. The point is that music is a huge factor into me doing anything in life. I’m broken maybe? But I can’t do much of anything without music and when I do have to? Well, I lose interest pretty damn quick.

I listen to all kinds of music and if it has a good enough back beat I’ll sit through it with no complaints. Some of my favorite artists are Run the Jewels, Nirvana, Placebo, Jack White, Nine Inch Nails, The Devil Makes Three, Die Antwoord, Misfits, Alkaline Trio, and most of all Modest Mouse. I’ll circle back to Modest Mouse, but if you are into weird fun rap music Die Antwoord is amazing. I fell into Zef pretty damn hard. I love their I don’t give a fuck attitude. This idea that I am into what I am into and you can either join us or move along. Something very freeing about that. I like way more artist then this, but these are the ones that I come back to the most. I’m also a huge fan of Prince, Primus, White Zombie, Slayer, Jay-Z, Queens of the Stone Ages, The Clash, Psyclon Nine, Brown Bird, Tool, AFI, Pixies, and the list goes on. 80’s music is my favorite genre of music. I really think that the best songs were written during this era, but I also think a lot of it has been lost and dated because of the rise of electric instruments. If you take the time to strip away all the flash. The songs written at this time are soul-crushing juggernauts that can stand up to any music from any era. The 80’s was very much a victim of innovation. Okay, I’m done.

Back to what this blog is supposed to be about. Bands or music that influence me to write. The top two artists that come to mind are Alkaline Trio and Modest Mouse. The rest of the music I listen too I need to function in life but to live I need these two bands. There is something about these two bands that drive me to say anything, to set a mood, or keep on going. Narrowing down the reasons for Alkaline Trio it would have to be the way the music is upbeat pop-punk with some of the most depressing lyrics around. The duality of it all drives me to keep on going. No matter how bad things are we have to keep on going. My favorite track from them is “Steamer Trunk.” I also enjoy “Crawl,” “Nose Over Tail,” and “5-3-10-4.” That’s the short list of all my favorites.

Okay, so Modest Mouse. Issac Brock, the lead singer, and songwriter is my favorite writer. I could go on all day about Charles Bukowski, Langston Hughes, John Steinbeck, Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, John Fante, Ira Levin, or Sylvia Plath, but in the end, Brock is my favorite. But how could a songwriter beat out all of those great writers? The simple reason is that I put on a Modest Mouse song like “Lives,” “Dark Center of the Universe,” or “Bukowski,” and I’m whole again. There is something about his words that bring me into a state of calm. A state of clarity that only Bukowski has ever come close too.

Brock’s lyrics are often complex and in the simplest form. Well as simple as he can get them. The thoughts and emotions he is able to dig out of me are beyond anything I have read or written or heard. His lyrics and words allow me to see the world in a different way. Good or bad I welcome that different perspective even if in most cases he and I think very similarly. I think because we do think similarly that Modest Mouse is a reassurance of yes keep going. Say what you want to say motivation. That I want and crave from the outside world.

Perspective though is what I love about reading in general. It is why I love reading all of your blog post from all over the world. I look forward to them every day. Perspective can have a profound effect on us as people. Something I think we should all strive for. I know we can’t all agree on the same things or want them either, but at the very least we need to understand them. I accept this every day. I’m grateful for it as well. Who wants to live in a world where we learn nothing at all?

This long ass post was inspired by a lot of things, but the most direct inspirations were Ward Clever and Mel Gutier. So if you are looking for some different music or great writing I suggest you check them out.

https://wardclever.wordpress.com/

https://fictioninmyhead.com/

 

Because Asking Would Be Too Off Putting

Diving right into the subject on this one. I’m sure I’ll dip in and out of anything I have to say. Thought about all of this six hours ago. My favorite book of all time is Post Office by Charles Bukowski. If you haven’t read it well. Well you should have by now. Bukowski is something else. Amazon has labels, the library has a section, but to me Bukowski is life. With that said is Post Office the greatest book ever written? Probably not. Could careless if anyone or no one else likes it.

The thing about Post Office that I love so much is this feeling. This feeling that life will never get better. This feeling that life is a trap. This feeling that you will always be stuck doing the same thing forever. I struggle with these issues on a daily basis as I’m sure most of us do. This doesn’t go away as we get older. But in a sense you have to settle. I hate to use that word and by definition what I’m about to say would go against that word. You get a fucking Treasures I’m writing here.

Point is that in life not everything is perfect all the time. Not every aspect of your life is what you dreamed it would be. One realizes with time that the only power they have is to choose which aspects of their lives to focus on. You can only spin so many fucking plates until it all comes crashing down.

I work hard at my job. Ask any of them and I’m awesome or whatever, but that place could burn down tomorrow. I’d be more pissed that I now have to find another job I don’t care about then anything to do with that place.  I settled for my job. Oh well could give a fuck. I need money for things I actually care about.

I didn’t settle on my family or the time that I spend with them. I don’t settle on my writing. Maybe after draft eighteen, but most of the time I don’t. These are things that I can make perfect. Things that I can care about. Things that make me happy. Yes I have that emotion somewhere deep down in there. Things I won’t settle for.

Post Office didn’t teach me any of this. What Post Office did was made me realize I was trapped. That I was lost. That I was going to get stuck. Post Office made me think and that is why books are important. I saw the parallels that I was living to the main character, and I knew that, that was not what I wanted. I knew I didn’t want to just get by in this life. I had a goal and I needed to do more than hope. I needed to do more than let the waves drag me under. Fuck what happens. That is what Post Office left me with. This feeling that what was going to happen was going to happen anyways. Might as well fuck with it until it does. We get one life. Take a chance.

“In the morning it was morning and I was still alive. Maybe I’ll write a novel, I thought. And then I did.”

Charles Bukowski, Post Office