WriteMyke

A first-floor parking spot. A Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato with two extra shots of espresso. A friendly tail-wag. A stranger’s genuine smile. Sleeping in. The calm before the storm (in both the literal and metaphorical sense.) A good beat. A cool and refreshing breath of air. A two-cup bounce shot. A triumphing active apathetic avoidance of embarrassment. Steak. Whiskey/Ginger. A clean house. A classy woman. The few times a year where you get to blast the heat and roll the windows down to create a small, controlled sense of chaos as two temperature extremes flow around you in a whirlwind of subtle variances between chills and hot flashes while still being subjected to the crisp fresh air around you outside.

I'm taking creative writing. I believe that my portfolio will be expanding quite a bit in this class. My instructor has already declared that she's simply going to make us write. So, my blog should expand quite a bit as well. The particular assignment is to take the last line from a poem we like (Edgar Allen Poe - "The Raven") and make it the first line of our own, original piece. This is the result: Shall be lifted nevermore, Beyond the earth evermore Past the scarecrow of paramour To a place I’ve been before. Try to deceive against the grain, Abolished from the masses I came, Rise above the ashes of fame, To thyself, myself became. Teach the lessons of the past Knowledge of man amassed, Instruction manual of life surpassed To a place greater than vast. Grasped before the value of pain Fermented truth of solidified disdain Pushed aside my telltale bane The fragment of existence remains. Shall be lifted nevermore, Beyond the e

It was a vivid image of intrinsic exaggeration, a frozen portrait of fluidity. Time did more than stand still; it ceased. Consciousness spiraled to an immense point of absence. There was no flooding luminance, no tunnel. One could say nothing existed and would fail to be ingeniously knowledgeable as opposed to saying entirety inexisted deeming one relentlessly axiomatic. However, the infinite void allowed the putrefying nothingness to consume perception into a bath of irrelevance, an infantile state of futile quiescence. Sans everything; it was an abyss of supreme nihility, a simplistic loop of nil. Suddenly there was sound. A distinct oscillation of a reverberated frequency resulting to an omniscient humming that numbly struck awareness like a chord. Then, like accosting winter as it hints insidiously into summer through the fingers of fall, I felt a flickering rime seep into conception. Next, a name was repeatedly called with a quiet overture of playground-style banter lofti

Read at your own discretion, whilst filtering my aggression my dreams become an obsession, in an ambient location, away from frustration, your world, with abbreviation, your criticizing inquisition, in non-fiction, nor taking position. I know thyself through deterioration, in no need of introduction, just induction and justification through stubborn progression. I will take these legions and lead them to destruction! To find gratification, I must first seek the ratification in total conjunction, with this proclamation of explanation. I need no recognition, for my decision is in arbitration of this damnation. Twisted and fitted with acquitted acidic restriction I’m honed in to the big picture and I’ve about had it in. Finding that riddled with an unusual perspective, my life must be inconclusive with an intrusive speculation. Sit down, erase the frown of your periling situation, for the general population will cower in fear of your open emotion. Empathy is dead and so is freedom in thi

I feel as if I could speak volumes and be ignored. If I could rattle mountain ranges with calm voice, I would scream and still go unheard. I’m trapped in a living nightmare of negativity and void of savory outcomes. My reality lately is simply of no control, it’s like silently fine-tuned rejection. I have no ripple of persuasion, no utterance of opinion. All I have is drive, but no direction. I’m oscillating and full-throttle, stuck in neutral and backing down an ever-steepening hill. I feel that I am able to simply lift all this nonsense over my head but my feet haven’t any grip. I’m slowly sinking and I am losing composure. I feel pressure when there is none. My fickle grasp of this thing called reality is slipping from my sight and life is decreasing in ease. I’m told stories about how this is just how it is, however this change has occurred in rapid succession as of recent. I can not seem to find any release. There is no relief, it just keeps coming like swimming in choppy water.

So, I was in Boston for St. Patrick’s Day a little over a week ago and I fell in love with the city. I had an awesome time and I will be posting a blog of my adventure soon. However, this blog is about something else. It’s about the fact that I finally solidified something about me: I feel more alive within or in close proximity of a large city and I, one day, plan to relocate to a large city. I once, with large intent, planned, articulated, and set in motion a movement to, uh, move to Miami after a short vacation to visit a friend that lived in the area. I still have a Miami area code actually. Yet, due to unforeseen circumstances I still live in Charlotte and, in hindsight, I’m glad. I’ve put some serious consideration into moving to Chicago as well. I have family up there and I absolutely dig it’s vibe as well. My recent trip to Boston left a similar internal passion to set up a change of scenery. And, we can’t forget the lingering pull to head back towards my home-front, Seattle

I had a revelation and, then, a realization yesterday when, for the second Tuesday in a row I played some form of golf, which, in this case was disc golf. I realized that I was enjoying a game that tested my patience, which used to be my least favorite kind of game. I used to lose my patience easily and quit. Now, I like the challenge. I like playing against myself, against that voice that says I can’t. The more I do this, the smaller the voice gets and the more I get to laugh and say: I can. Upon looking back, this all started on November 1 st , it was the day I quit smoking. I decided to gift that to my Mum for Christmas. I gave her the first cigarette that I would never smoke. The one that was sitting on my desk, begging and willing to be set ablaze, inhaled, and continue to blacken my sensitive lung tissue; the cigarette that I starred at and mocked the presence of on a daily basis. It was a great idea and awesomely executed. She loved it, and my plan came even more into