Journalism 101

talking to a girl this morning. an ex-marine. she showed me the scars. i’m a believer. she had the stare. knew what mattered(her service dog’s health) rolled up on a bicycle with camo panniers. i drove her to the vet, on gas a clerk gave me(her dog was done, and the vet was miles away).

Our country is falling into a crap hole if this is where the cookie crumbles. if you have to come to a place like this. read a story like this. where is the editor? why isn’t the punctuation there? because our schools suck so bad, I want to express my disgust with a flair, as my attitude sucks right now.

anyways, this lady, a mother, tells me she’s getting schooled, when I tell her the definition of the word, in response to her sharing that she’s hoping to get back into school soon. why? because one of the ways it’s defined is: a community of people, in a building, sharing knowledge. I’m parked under a bridge, in the cab of my truck, publishing a lesson. deal with it. like I said. my attitude sucks. our schools suck. teachers are rad. they got a hard row to hoe.

this is me, puking a joke, while hoping to avoid the nasty title of unreliable narrator. glad to bust art i was today. don’t get me wrong. i was torn up too. motivated to get drunk. unfortunately, there’s not enough alcohol in the world to fix what I’ve got. it’s called dreaming. most people think it’s a mental health issue. looks a lot like it. you might say synonymous if you were a shit bag. I’m not.

I finish last. as in sloppy seconds, because I’m a nice guy. fucking heartbreak will get the best of us if we let it. thank goodness for hip hop. pissed off brilliant people, who want to see our country change in beautiful ways, get poetry right.

this is my farewell letter, as I ooze out of the state. if you want some tools, I’m leaving the truck where I run out of gas on I-5. the title is in the glove box.
or maybe not. we’ll see.

was that unreliable? I prefer consistently inconsistent. or oxymoronic. anyways the point of this story. your welcome. I do my best to speak the truth, as a newspaper kid/man. this article is another example of half and half in some coffee. a true story, with some dreaming, or poetic justice to keep me entertained. oops. did I really just say that? yes. I love to write. even unintelligibly. this is my journal. TATWIP isn’t Total Asshole Tinkering With Insubordinate Publications. It stands for Toys Are Tools Work Is Play. This is me having fun, and volunteering to work, with an instrument of win lose or draw. punctuation is overrated typical artist, two minutes late for an appointment with a hammer, and a rock. well two rocks. the first stroke was done with granite. felt good. I still want to sell my art, but this piece was mine. a little bit of selfish, goes a long way, to bring me to feeling right…….about being autistic…..I mean artistic. thanks wick, they have similarities in how people treat you for being the way you are. keep writing irish, your funny as fuck.





The pharmacy of your mind prescribing for my pleasure

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