May 4th, 2024

Journal Writing

May 4th, 2024

Pennyroyal Teas

Why does everything cost a pretty penny? Why can’t it cost an ugly penny instead? I have no shortage of those. There’s also a certain comicality to the fact that Abraham Lincoln, one of our most uncomely presidents, has his visage minted on the coin. Let’s face it, while he was a great man, he wasn’t the greatest-looking one. Once, when accused of being two-faced, Abraham Lincoln humorously retorted, “If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?” Given his appearance, we should be thankful that a coin only has one head. He looked poorly, and maybe that’s why a penny is only worth one cent, and anybody with only pennies to their name is bound to also be poor. Another example of an ugly penny is that clown from IT, Pennywise. Even with all that makeup on, IT was still hideous.

All I know is whether it’s a pretty penny or an ugly one, I don’t want to resort to having a penny wedding. I also do not want to be so broke and penniless that I only have enough to pay someone to play the “Wedding March” on just a penny whistle. It would be just my luck that someone would also be Pennywise. Also, I’d like to buy my wife a house someday, maybe somewhere on “Penny Lane,” which “is in my ears and in my eyes,” just not in my pockets. I should have thrown more pennies into an actual wishing well instead of the sewer drain outside my house where Pennywise might live. If only people gave me a penny for my thoughts, I might have more than just my two cents.

Summer’s Whisper

Poetry Writing

Summer’s Whisper

Skin, even softer than rose petals,
Beneath my touch, a blush so maroon,
Each strand of hair like dandelions sway,
That summer’s breath trumpets through,

Eyes, deep meadows of bluebells,
Reflecting heavens, vast and true,
Lips, as tender as tulips in bloom,
Their kiss, a soft whisper, like morning dew.

March 20th, 2024

Journal Writing

March 20th, 2024

Write Your Name

They say the road to becoming a good writer is paved with good intentions, but sometimes, it feels paved with fresh concrete. Take my own journey, for instance. I’ve always dreamed of spinning humorous anecdotes that could light up a room with laughter. Instead, I find myself spinning my wheels in the concrete, waiting for a never-ending red traffic light to change.

Whenever I find a few precious moments for writing, it’s like finally deciding to ditch the car and walk. I don’t get very far before realizing I’m only being fitted for a new pair of concrete sneakers. After trudging through cement for hours, the next thing I know, it’s nighttime, and someone suggests I should sleep with the fishes. I tell them I always wanted a waterbed but suddenly find myself being thrown off the pier instead. I try to make the best of it and ask a clownfish for some good jokes, but he has a dry sense of humor.

When I finally emerge from the briny deep, I decide I’m getting pretty desperate and should perhaps try to take cues from the greats. I recall what Taylor Swift once famously said when she was faced with a blank space, “I’ll write your name.” But whose name do I write? Do I pick a random name from the phonebook and hope for the best? The thought of leaving anyone out fills me with guilt, so I resign myself to the absurd notion of writing down every single name on the planet.

Considering an estimated 8 billion people are in the world, this task suddenly feels less like a whimsical exercise and more like a Herculean feat. Ready to embark on this epic nomenclature journey, I arm myself with a pen because I’ve heard it said the pen is mightier than the sword. Even though I’m pretty sure Hercules was so strong, he had no use for a sword. Either way, I signed myself up for a marathon of biblical proportions.

On average, it takes about three and a half hours to write a modest 8,500 words. Doing some quick math, I realize it would take me roughly 376 years to scribble down all 8 billion names. At this point, I question why I didn’t decide to become a mathematician. But I would probably be in the same boat if I calculated pi by hand.

With a sinking feeling in my gut, probably from all the water I swallowed while sleeping with the fish, I realize the futility of my endeavor. By the time I finish jotting down the last name on my list, a significant portion of those people will have shuffled off this mortal coil, leaving me with a dusty tome of obsolete monikers. And what’s worse, I’ll probably have developed such severe writer’s cramp that I won’t be able to lift a pen, let alone craft the witty anecdotes that inspired this madness in the first place.

With a weary sigh, I set aside my pen and paper, vowing to approach my writing with a newfound sense of pragmatism. Who knows? Maybe one day, I’ll look back on this absurd quest for inspiration and laugh. But for now, I’ll content myself with the knowledge that sometimes, the best anecdotes never get written down.

February 2nd, 2024

Journal Writing

February 2nd, 2024

Groundhog Day

I hate when my pet projects end up in the pet cemetery because I’m afraid, one particularly bone-chilling night, I will find an army of undead guinea pigs at my doorstep. Everybody knows zombie guinea pigs are less cute and fluffy than their living counterparts. Zombeavers beware! These reanimated rodents are as equally ghastly. Although I’m sure boogey guinea pigs might make well, good guinea pigs to experiment on, I would probably need to learn how to get down and boogie with them first. That’s quite the feat, especially considering I have two left feet. One of those left feet is already one foot in the grave from another time I tried to do the running man with some walking dead hedgehogs. I know hedgehogs are not technically rodents, but there’s no reason to get all scientific. First, we need to get some guinea pigs before we do that.

What I don’t understand is why is it that groundhogs are considered rodents while hedgehogs are not? Furthermore, who decided groundhogs would make good meteorologists? When a groundhog doesn’t see its shadow, we have an early spring. Yup, that’s really scientific there. Can that same person also decide that hedgehogs can be brokers? I could for sure use some help with my hedge fund. Not that I need to worry about my financial future amid a zombie guinea pig apocalypse. But yeah, my current guy only takes golden rings as payment. Also, currently, he might be on the run from attacking an evil scientist who turned guinea pigs into robots. See, that’s precisely why I need them undead first.

Holey

Poetry Writing

Holey

She is holey like her jeans,
A temple for a body,
From her head down to her feet,
She is a denim deity,

She is holey like her jeans,
A serene angel in capris,
With wings that flutter unseen,
Her beauty is heavenly,

She is holey like her jeans,
From faded blues to cerulean,
A celestial dream to me,
It’s in her that I believe,

She is wholly complete,
Even her flaws are pretty,
My heart bursts at the seams,
When she wears holey jeans.

For You

Poetry Writing

For You

For whom do the weeping willows cry?
For whom do their tears likewise dry?
For whom do the hill crests stretch high,
For who do grapes grow on the vine?
For whom do they make the sweetest wine?
For whom do bees make honey in hives?
For whom do songbirds sing lullabies?

For whom do the stars twinkle and shine?
For whom do they streak across the sky?
For whom do the constellations guide?
For whom do the sun and the moon rise?
For whom do the planets all align?
For whom do the heavens deeply sigh?
For you, that’s who because you are mine.