WriteMyke

So, I have been in this service industry for about six or seven years now. From my experience I have heard tales of an amazing restaurant from dissatisfied guests. It is an establishment where you can walk in with twenty or more people on a Saturday night and be seated immediately, greeted with a mind-reading server within thirty seconds that already has your drink order, which is on special, but you don’t like coconut, so it’s replaced with a full shot of top-shelf vodka. You are also welcomed with chips and salsa, baskets of bread and a plentiful array of dipping sauces complimentary. The entire menu is just pictures and, when you order, you only have to point. The talented server knows what sides you want, that you don’t eat bacon, that you are allergic to tomatoes and that you don’t like shrimp. Apparently, this place will automatically substitute shrimp for a New York Strip, free of charge, and your meal comes out almost as soon as the server takes the order and, in most cases, b...

His heart was racing. Nauseous, his stomach was turning wave after wave. After ending his ritualistic phone call with his Mum, he felt a hint of comfort. He tried telling himself that being nervous is part of the show. It’s what makes him strive for perfection and keeps him searching for the track that the crowd doesn’t even know they want to hear. It’s what keeps the energy flowing and what keeps his focus. A voice briefly cut his rapid anxiety, ‘five minutes.’ The panic was turning to excitement. Feverishly he recapped the tentative playlist in his head. It doesn’t matter too much, it would all change anyway. The best performances come from improvisation. This was his first big show. This was his first time headlining and the first time he filled the house with people wanting to see him and no other perform. He could not be happier or more stressed. This was the one. This was the one that would make his career. He’d soon be traveling the world to the hottest clubs, to the mo...

I find it is like a sucker punch that is whispering a quick jab to the jawbone. Relentless, such as twisting my lip between my teeth; I do not stop until I feel dread and drink the iron flavor like wine. Sipping the pain as one would pleasure, I feel it spread all through my bones, like a droplet of a foreign liquid in purified water, expanding throughout and soothing my bitter resentment. My pearly whites plucking at a small fiber of flesh until it snaps releasing the acrid, maroon escape from my worse enemy but only for the very split-second of apathy found for every moment my heart flutters for no cause, every nagging hour that my affection stands without application and every instant that I realize I am still seeking. All I have found is a goddess that does not exist, a muse for a deceased artist, a harlot for saint and clown for my penance. They whisper a serenade from a fictitious place leading even the most willed to doom such as a siren calling through the night and turning the...

I had a dream the other night that I had no eyes. I couldn’t get over that image. The feeling was panic mixed with shock, yet overall, it was uncanny. It was so mystifying, in fact, that I spent the whole day being revisited with vivid flashbacks. It wasn’t as if my eyes were seemingly airbrushed away from my appearance. I had open cavities on my face. Disturbing. I could even recall the feeling of cool air pressing itself within the center of my head much like a breeze crossing over your eyes. The event was so astounding that I found it gripping my attention sporadically throughout my day. I never even stopped to ask myself how I saw myself with no eyes. Peculiar how a dream that was holding my subconscious captive all day could stall thought like a rhetorical question when seen at a different angle. Rather than why, but, now, how? I saw myself in a mirror. I know that; I remember seeing that. I know that I shouldn’t consciously ponder what my subconscious does, I doubt that’...

I may have reached the point in my life when the pictures that are taken of me right now will no longer be approached with the “look how young I was” response in the future. They, instead, may very well be met with the “I still had hair then” nostalgia. That reality is deafening. I love Nostalgia, I’ve been in a perpetual state of it most of my life but I also love my hair. I don’t know how to cope with this. There are a lot of things that are worse and I feel like a child that’s not getting their way but I’m not ready to be faced with my mortality and that’s what this represents. I’ve always been fond of my hair, since I could remember. Matter of fact, since before I could remember. My mother told me of the first time I got my haircut. Don’t mistake this for the times before when my mum got my haircut. This was the first time I got to direct it. Apparently, the hair stylists thought I was a riot. I’d have numbers for individual strands of hair and specific lengths. I made up my ow...

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.

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 ...

This started on a Facebook post of mine. This was the post: Myke wonders why it's a test when bad things happen to good people. You know, sans faith, it's basically unjust punishment... - A Friend of Mine posted: " Bad things happen to good people because there is no God and everything is random. Please reply back if you want to argue out the issue. I love religious debates. Life has no inherant meaning besides the one we give it as individuals." - Myke: " Mr. -----, my faith does not rest upon my god, I've fought an internal struggle with that since I was five. However, most the time I do believe that there is something more. There are just too many coincidences for life to exist. Let alone intelligent and conscious life. Still, all that said, my faith lies within balance. (I love these things to, but I like to view them more as discussions...)" - Friend: " Debate, discussion, as long as they arent called arguments...