Saturday, November 05, 2016

An Excerpt

You may ask yourself, "E, what are you working on? What stories do you have planned for your public face?"

You may also may not. Frankly, it doesn't matter.

Here's an excerpt.

Where to begin? Thurston was dead. There was no doubt in that. The record of his internment was affixed with all of the necessary signatures: the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. All were notarized, witnessed, and affixed with the official seal. LaGrasse signed it as well, as a matter of respect for his oldest friend. LaGrasse’s name was good for whatever incidentals that were needed to complete the task and for whatever he, himself, wanted to change. Yes, there was no doubt, Thurston had joined the Choir of the Invisible.

Mind you, I do not mean to say that I hear the singing of that glorious choral melody that the Invisible Choir sings. I do not know the composition or timbre of their song. I do believe, however that they do exist in the hereafter and those who do join their celestial ranks would be able to pull the heartstrings of many a stone man with words beyond power. So, I will say again, with or without your permission, with as much fearful reverence as I can, Thurston had joined the Choir of the Invisible.

LaGrasse and Thurston were partners in business for years beyond my reckoning. LaGrasse was the man’s sole executor, administrator, and assign. He was also Thurston’s sole residuary legatee, sole mourner, and solitary friend. With all of that said, it was witnessed by the clergyman, the clerk, and the undertaker that LaGrasse was  not so dreadfully affected by the event of Thurston’s death.

Thurston’s name was never painted over on the sign above the business office. It stood years after his joining of the Choir. The firm was simply named “LaGrasse and Thurston.” Sometimes new customers to the firm called the remaining partner by his own name, and sometimes by Thurston’s, but he answered to both in indifference. It was all the same to him, so long as the money traded hands.

Renewal, Rebirth, and Running in Shadows

The separation of what I do professionally and what I do socially is somewhat disparate. I hold a position in an office that pays the bills and insurance. I wish to do more on my own rather than being an #officehero feeling like I'm a cog in a great machine bent on becoming, and I quote, "a thriving enterprise providing solutions to the world's most complex problems."

Within, I am told that I have the soul of a poet and adventurer. I am a #wordhero who has bled out hundreds of thousands of words throughout my many years. I've told of galactic adventurers and down-home heroes. I've placed antagonists and protagonists alike in difficult, nearly impossible really, situations. I've broken children and brought them back stronger than ever. I've killed superheroes after they have saved the day. I've told of love and loss and everything in between.

I've also cracked the Moon and decimated the Earth.

Today, this auspicious day, well, auspicious to me anyway, I am following my feelings and putting things back into perspective. I am using the time that I am to be performing the traditional arduous word marathon to place things back on the rails and to stoke the coals within great fiery furnace that is my creative mind.

I've been holding myself back. As I look back on this, it is about fear. Fear of being myself, of saying what I need to say, of thinking that some may not like (love) the words I write. I'm kind of tired of living in fear. I've let it creep deep into the cracks and crannies of my life and fester there like some sort of maligned tumor that made me think that I should be something other than what I am.

I am that I am.

I know, blaspheme, right? No, not in the least. I am that fiery being encased in this fleshform. I have the connections to the universe that enable me to sit and listen to the sky as I knock in perpetual question. I am also the tender thing that can easily be bruised from a hard word or seemingly inescapable silence that permeates the realms I wander.

I am all of it and I don't give a soft winged damn what you truly think about it.

If you like what I write, great. If not, well, one cannot please everyone. I happen to like (love) the words I write. They are deeply personal and I expect (yes, expect) a modicum of respect for them. You want to be a troll, go do it somewhere else. I don't need it.

If, however, you wish to connect and share, here I am. If you want to discuss with intelligence and understanding, here I am. I'm more than willing to hear and view different ideas. I'm more than willing to share them. I'm more than willing to entertain that I have an awful viewpoint and it needs to be changed.

So be it. I know that I am not perfect. I know that I'll make mistakes and change my views upon any number of things based on new information. I'm not cast in stone, nor are my views.

It feels good to be back. I look forward to our future conversations should you choose to engage.