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At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole god-damned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidate who reminded them most of themselves. I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go.

– Charles Bukowski

The loa of animosity ride down through the streets, looking for furious horses but finding only bitter sheep.  So what do we expect when they drive us to the edge of the cliff, in front of the bus, to that drawer under the sink, to the shoebox on the closet shelf, to the fireplace poker we never use.  Let the sky fall.  Let the buildings come down.  Knock over the steeples.  Let it all burn.  There are periods (sometimes days, sometimes weeks) when, for no discernible reason, I exist in a toxic emotional hell.  Life seems pointless. A giant hand seems to be pressing down (sometimes literally) on my brain. And I feel a great unfathomable anger–loathing might be a better word if HST doesn’t somehow still own it–for all humans everywhere including (especially) myself.  It gets worse or slightly better.  Maybe it gets worse again.  It.  The loathing one feels for one’s fellow man, the distaste, the need to get away from everyone, everything.  The feeling that can sometimes even boil into pure hatred.

On such days, it’s all I can do to avoid others. Spending time with animals helps. Writing helps. Doing things for others–being outwardly directed–helps if I can stand the company. But this is the secret I’ve discovered and it’s better than any drug, therapy, or puja: I stop thinking critically about things. I stop passing judgment and drawing conclusions. I stop with the sweeping generalizations and all the cruel theories. I just stop being a critical thinker and I instead narrow my awareness such that I only focus on things and individuals I admire.

Admiration is a tunnel that begins in appreciation and ends in gratitude. It’s an escape tunnel from the prison of my own mind. This sort of gratitude is not the false facade thrown up by the Sunday morning Christian; it’s personal. It’s an antidote for an irrational hatred that’s born in brain chemistry and lives in a kind of self-perpetuating pseudo-logic designed to keep me as miserable as possible. I don’t believe in giving up control or that life is what happens when we’re making other plans. But I do believe in recreation (re|creation) through various acts of admiration that lead back to a sense of inner equipoise. And it’s free, too.

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I write fiction and nonfiction for magazines, work as a freelance writer / editor / journalist, and teach composition and fiction writing.

This blog is mostly dedicated to writing about politics and media, travel essays, creative non-fiction, discussions about books, the MFA experience, publishing, and work I’ve already placed in magazines. But I might write anything.

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To educate is to seek meaning in everything. It is to teach others to seek the meaning of things. This means mixing the dreams of children and young people with the experience of adults and the elderly. This exchange must always take place, or else there can be no humanity because there would be no roots, no history, no promise, no growth, and no prophecy.

— Pope Francis, 5 June 20

I write it myself, edit it myself, censor it myself, publish it myself, distribute it myself, and spend time in prison for it myself.

— Vladimir Bukovsky

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If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery—isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is.

― Charles Bukowski, Factotum

“The job of a President is to lower the temperature, to bring people who disagree with one another together, to make life better for all Americans, not just those who agree with us, support us, or vote for us.”

— Joe Biden