Blick ins spiegel – was siehst du da?
weis ganz nichts.
es sieht allgemein aus
und recht bekannt
aber kann nicht sagen das ich ihn kenne
was will er?
was ist er?
wer ist er?
ich glaubte, ich konnte es raus puzzeln
ich glaubte falsch.
Blick ins spiegel – was siehst du da?
weis ganz nichts.
es sieht allgemein aus
und recht bekannt
aber kann nicht sagen das ich ihn kenne
was will er?
was ist er?
wer ist er?
ich glaubte, ich konnte es raus puzzeln
ich glaubte falsch.
I sat to write from deep inside To plumb the depths down in my mind To analyze what festers there Then sort it out and solace find But looking in and peering 'round Find jumbled masses in a rage Each voice insisting it's the one Demanding freedom from this cage Retreat with haste and turn the key No wiser than I was before Close me up with bolt and lock Scared to e're reopen that door
I wish I knew how it came to be That various bits and parts of me Creak and grind incessantly as if I were full ninety-three
I’ve spent most of the last few months working with a customer to define a project. They came to us knowing that the scope and requirements weren’t well defined, and asking for our expert opinion to help them simultaneously develop the experiment they wanted to carry out and the hardware to conduct it on. And, do all of this on a very short time-frame. We signed up to the challenge, believing they believed in us and that we would be successful in overcoming the current shortfalls.
As the last several months have dragged painfully on, we have made almost no … Read the rest
It’s been a while since I’ve written anything outside of my day job. Life has been too busy and challenging to spend much time on anything other than getting from point A to point B. I expect I’ll write more on that later, when the terms of my probation/conditional release/whatever are actually expired and I am free to fully speak my mind. In the meantime, I’m saving a few thoughts for later.
As I write this, the world is deeply immersed in the mass-panic that is COVID-19. In the last week or so, politicians too scared to accept the risk … Read the rest
Driving drunk is dangerous. Writing or saying anything while angry sometimes rises to that same level.
Drive to be productive, Time to be creative, Focus to be innovative. Success that pushes forward, Progressing toward complete, Till the vision is realized. And now it stands finished, But no one but me cares to see - My voice doesn't matter here. Creation stalls out cold, Wasted work mocks new hope, And shouts it's nothing new.
(2018) I just received my first rejection letter from a queried literary agent. Milestone achieved. Now, the wait to see if there are any who think my attempt at a novel could possibly be profitable.
(January 2019): Make that three, and the time has elapsed where I’m extremely unlikely to hear back from any of the others. Looks like a failed attempt all around. I guess I just overestimated my ability.
(October 2019): I decided to submit to a new list of potential agents. Same result as before. A few summary rejections. The rest was silence. I’m giving up on … Read the rest
I have been to the mountain And seen through the crystalline air The valley below shrouded in fog And the goal that lies just beyond I have wandered the paths of the valley Groping through gray of the mists Feeling for wayposts and markers Hoping to progess without knowing how I can stand above and know the way Or go below and press the path But never both.
About a year ago, I started writing a story after a strong impression. It wasn’t a particularly happy story – it was a story that was initially meant to condemn the blood-lust and military adventurism that has characterized American politics for the last 80ish years. As I put the pieces together, it gelled around a protagonist who experienced some of the darkest aspects of conflict. I found writing it to be very difficult. However, I kept writing it as a means of sharing emotions and difficulties I couldn’t share otherwise. It was a sensationalized and amplified retelling of stuff I … Read the rest