Tag Archives: Websites

A Techno Kind Of Night

19 Apr

This last weekend, I had the privilege of hanging out with some of the finest DJs the Midwest has to offer. The crews over at PhulPhunk and Kansas City Techno got together and put on one hell of a free show for the internets. Come and take a look at just a few of the snapshots I took that night.

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The Storm Within

17 Apr

As I lay here in this empty bed, I listen to the thunder roll in from the west. With each crash and boom that resonates through my eardrums, I realize something insanely profound. As the pain and nausea sets in, this epiphany, this harsh reality, hits me hard like a sucker punch to the gut from an unknown opponent.

The thing is, I should have known this all along. This truth shouldn’t have come as a surprise in any way.

But it did. It took me completely off guard.

And as each flash of lightning illuminates this cold, dark room, my newfound sense of reality finally starts to set in.

I am a storm.

From a distance, you can appreciate and even love a storm. You can marvel at its raw power and beauty. A storm, will mesmerize you and lull you into a false sense of comfort.

I am a storm.

Most of the times, you will make it through a storm unscathed with little more than a few drops of water dripping down your face. But sooner or later, unapologetically and without warning, a storm you’ve seen a million times will turn on you in an instant. Suddenly, you are left wondering what hit you and what you are supposed to do next.

You see, I am a storm. You can only love a storm until it actually does damage to you. Like the best storms often do, I will ruin and destroy. And because of that, you cannot love a storm. Even the most seemingly harmless of storms are unlovable.

I am, without a doubt, a storm.

And as most experts say, you do not get close to a storm. It’s always in your best interest to just admire it from afar.

The Irony Of Time

28 Feb

Well, it’s now week three of the IndieInk Writing Challenge. And I have to say, the competition and the prompts just keep getting more and more fierce. My challenge this week comes from the very talented and ultimately lovely Anastasia McDonnell (@mcdonnellism on the Twitter machine).

“The Giant Hourglass: You are given 5 years to live. Not 2 weeks, not six months, but a full five years to the day. Describe how you handle this news & what you fill this rather unusual timeline with.”

Wow. And I thought last week’s prompt was going to be hard. This one? As I am typing these words, I have no clue how I am going to attack this one. All I keep coming up with is fart sounds and the word “DUH” that seems to be on repeat in my tiny brain.

Anyway, here goes nothing!



Until that day, I never paid much attention to it.

You see, time seemed to be so inconsequential, so trivial. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t change time. I couldn’t fast forward reality. I couldn’t go back to fix all the mistakes of the past. After years and years of abiding by other people’s timetables, I just quit caring altogether. After all, why occupy yourself with the task of worrying about things you cannot change?

Well, that’s what I used to think.

That is, until that day.

I remember that day. I remember the sights, the sounds, even the way the small, sterile room smelled.

Most importantly, I remember the irony.

I was late, very late to an appointment that was three months in the making. As usual, I was obeying a timetable imposed on me by someone else. When I made the appointment to see him, I could hear the disinterest in the receptionist’s voice as I questioned her about their lack of a more expeditious appointment time.

“Three months is the absolute soonest he will be able to see you, sir” she said with a hint of irritation to her Southern drawl.

“Fine. Just fine. I’ll just be waiting here, wondering if I am even going to live long enough to make it to this appointment. But don’t you worry yourself about me.”

Met with silence, I wasn’t sure if she caught the heavy dose of sarcastic anger I was throwing her way.

“We’ll see you on the 23rd of April, sir. Make sure you have your paperwork completed upon arrival to insure no further delays. Have a good day.”

No sooner did I try to stumble out some sort of halfhearted valediction, I was met with a deafening dial tone. My time with her was up. There was nothing more I could do.

As the months passed, I got sicker and sicker. I could feel my body withering away.  I knew I was dying. I knew there was nothing they could do. But still, I waited for that appointment with a sense of urgency and diligence that nobody could match. Maybe, just maybe, he would have the answers. He would look at me, wave his magic wand, and take away all that ails me. I clung to hope like a lifesaver. At this point, hope is all I had left.

The unforgiving sounds of my alarm clock jolted me out of bed that day. Discombobulated, I struggled to allow the remaining nightmare to wash itself from my mind. Today, I would meet my maker so to speak. And my subconscious knew this. For the last three months, my dreams had slowly become nightmares. My mortality was at play. By day, my mind struggled with this very fact. And by night, my mind would torment me.

“SHHHHHHIIIIITTTTTT!” I screamed out as my weary eyes finally focused on the alarm clock.

I was already 15 minutes late to my appointment. Once again, time had fucked me.

Without hesitation, I threw on my clothes, doused my un-showered self with cologne, and ran down two flights of stairs to my car. Within minutes, I was checking in for my appointment.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, ma’am. I don’t know what the hell my alarm clock was thinking this morning!”

“Please fill this two top forms out and initial the bottom, sir. He is running  a little bit behind, so there may be a little bit of a wait.”

I took my rightful place among the others in the waiting room. As I sunk into the vinyl seat, sounds of sickness surrounded me.  I knew I was going to end up just like everyone else in this room. I knew there was no way I could fight it anymore. I knew my time had come.

I could feel the tears starting to stream down my face as I initialed each of the documents the receptionist handed me. I felt like I was signing my own death certificate. I already felt doomed before I even had a chance to meet with him.

“Mr. Johnson? Is there a Mr. Johnson here?”

Embarrassed, I slowly rose to my feet and headed into the direction of the womanly voice calling my name.

“I’m Mr. Johnson, ma’am. Please excuse the tears and the red face. I must have gotten something in my eye.”

I knew she didn’t buy my story. Her disbelief was written all over her calming smile and comforting eyes.

“It’s been a bad allergy season for us, hasn’t it?” she quipped back.

I smiled as I shook my head in agreement. I was still way too embarrassed to muster the words needed for an actual conversation.

We made our way down a long corridor and into the exam room. My mind quickly inventoried my surroundings as if I would need these memories for a later date. The room was cold, white, and suffocating. This would be the place I would meet him. This is the place where I would be saved.

Or so I hoped.

Within minutes, he was finally standing in front of me. The pressure of his handshake seemed to crush every single bone in my right hand. I didn’t care though. This was my moment. I had waited so long just to meet this man, this savior of mine.

And then he spoke.

I don’t even recall the whole conversation that took place that day. My mind would only allow me to remember the most important parts. My hope was no more. His confirmation of what I already knew validated my worst nightmares.

I was dying.

Suddenly, the thing I never paid much attention to was front and center on my mind. All I could think of was time. How much time did I have? How much time would I spend in pain?

His words were as heavy as boulders. Each verb, each noun, each adjective stung like cigarettes smoldering underneath my skin. Even though I already knew what he was going to tell me, I felt abused. I felt sicker than when I walked into that fucking room. I finally felt defeat trickling into every part of my soul.

I’m sure the look on my face said it all. I couldn’t even comprehend what had just been presented to me. I tuned out pretty much everything he had to say. I couldn’t change reality.

Time had come for me.

“Wait. Stop. No more explanations. No more talk of experimental treatments. How much time do I have left? What is my timetable here, doctor?” I said between tears and anger.

“A patient with your condition usually has five years to live once the initial diagnosis has been made. Think of today as day one.”

“Five fucking years? I have five years left of this? Five years of pain, agony, and suffering?”

“Yes, Mr. Johnson. I suggest you start living each day like it was your last.”

And with that, his time with me was done. I heard the metal of the door latch click as he left the room.

He was gone. And so was my hope.

That night, I sat alone in my bed for the first time as a man with a known death sentence. Where would I go from here? What did I have left?


The one thing that was once so insignificant to me suddenly was the only thing I could think about. I was a prisoner to time. I couldn’t speed it up. I couldn’t slow it down. I could feel time weigh me down like a giant hourglass that was strapped to my back.

As I glanced over at my alarm clock one last time as I drifted off to sleep, I was now, more than ever, on the clock. Tomorrow would be day two. Tomorrow, I would have more time to think. Tomorrow, I would have less time to live.

Suddenly, time had become both my friend and my enemy. And now It was up to me to figure out how to keep the peace.


21 Feb

Well, it’s week two of the IndieInk Writing Challenge and I have to say, things are about to get all kinds of crazy up in here. We’ve expanded the challenge to not only include our own lovely editors, but we also opened up the challenge to the internets.

So, what does this all mean?


We have some of the best writers around challenging each other from across the world-wide webs to weekly writing duels. If last week was a geeky writer’s version of You Got Served, then this week has to be more on the level of The Fast and the Furious. Well, without Vin Diesel. And without cars. And without…aw, fuck it. It’s nothing like The Fast and the Furious. I give up.

Anyway, this week’s challenge comes to me from San Diego Momma (@SanDiegoMomma on the Twitter machine). I love her challenge because it’s just a single word. I totally appreciate and admire this dark and twisted word in so many ways.


With that said, this word also scares the shit out of me. Don’t get me wrong, I love that one word can take me down so many different paths. But my tiny brain is a flurry with memories, thoughts, and ideas based on just this single eight letter noun. This is definitely going to be a tough one. I guess that’s why it’s called a challenge, huh?


The look in her eyes that night will forever be seared into my soul. As each tear streamed down her cheeks, they amplified every single emotion you could ever imagine as they danced their way past her nose and trickled slowly onto the pillow that cradled her weary head.

This time, her tears were because of me. A direct result of the words that struggled past my tongue just moments before. Even though we were inches from each other in the same bed, we were miles apart in our minds.

This time, an explanation of the thoughts rolling around in her mind would not be necessary.

This time, there would be no guessing, no map or key.

This time, I knew.

I could read the hurt, the shock, and the blatant betrayal written on her face as if someone had tattooed those very words in large black letters across her pale skin.

Then again, I knew the tattoo artist all too well.

As painful as the silence was, nothing could have prepared me for the words she spoke next.

“I would have never expected this from you. Not in a million years.”

Her words were delivered with such a softness that you’d never expect just how heavy, how razor sharp they actually were.

But she was right.

Nobody in their right mind would have expected anything like this out of me.

Not her.

Not me.

Not a soul.

As dawn neared, I knew things would never be the same. Life would go on, but not in the capacity we both had become so accustomed to.

You see, with a few words I changed everything.

My failure was out in the open.

And with just a few words, my betrayal was hers to live.




A Toot Of My Own Horn: The IndieInk Edition

18 Jan





Last week, I was approached by the awesome folks over at IndieInk about joining their creative team as a content editor. With a certain amount of saliva running down my chin, I shouted “YES! YES! YES!”

Well, that’s the way it played out in my head anyway. I am pretty sure I did nothing but mumble incoherent things and tell them how much I love to light things on fire. Nevertheless, I am now an official editor. I am not quite sure what that means. But they said I could light whatever I want on fire, so I am going to run with it.

But seriously though, being that I was once a featured writer for IndieInk, I am truly humbled and honored to even be asked to join this awesome crew. So, make sure you come and visit me over at IndieInk (and follow us on the Twitter Machine as well @indieink). Actually, don’t just visit. Stop by, read some wonderful writing, view some wonderful art, and while you are at it, submit your OWN work to IndieInk. What are you waiting for? Go!I’ll be waiting.



And Elsewhere

7 Jan

I’ve been all over the place lately. I am trying my best to win at the internets. It’s a rough game, folks. Anyway, please to enjoy the following links. My fingers worked really hard on them.

This Week At Mamapop:

Tuesday’s Post: HIMYM Season Six Recap: Episode 13 “Bad News”

Wednesday’s Post: Taylor Swift And Jake Gyllenhaal Stick A Fork In It

Thursday’s Post: Top SNL Characters You’d Want To Kick It With

This Week At Draft Day Suit:

Thursday’s Post: Shocker Of The Day: Titans To Cut Vince Young

The Silence That Torments

4 Jan

The silence in this house screams out the obvious.

I am alone.

Over the years, I thought about what this moment would feel like. Just me. Just me and this old couch. I would fantasize about the silence. I would glorify this very moment over and over in my head, a simple idealized serenity played out in a million daydreams. I’d speed home through rush hour traffic and anxiously count down the seconds while the garage door opened. As my hand turned the knob to the six panel door, I would feel the stillness of the house invade me like a virus. The solitude would invigorate and refresh my soul. Through the silence, I could breath again.

Or so I thought.

No sooner did my worn sneakers cross the threshold, I knew I was wrong. Gone were the scurry of little feet to great me at the door. Gone were the giggles and adoring salutations that coincided with my mere presence on a nightly basis. Gone was that rush of adrenaline that filled my veins as the first “HI DADDY!” graced my ears.


I didn’t even make it to the living room before the first tear rolled down my cheek. The silence that I once coveted, now tormented me more than I thought possible. As I sank my body further and further into the couch, my heart began to pound. I could feel the droplets of panic drip from my brow onto the pillow that I clutched like a lifesaver as if I just abandoned ship. There in the darkness, I was alone.


Paralyzed by the unfamiliarity of my self induced solitude, I closed my eyes. This would be my resting spot for the night. The couch that I dreamt about so many times before, now felt like it was made of concrete. For the first time in thirty years, I was alone.

Just me.

Just this couch.


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