Welcome to my page! I am a writer whose interests are vast and believes in the art of the word. In my writing you will find Non-Fiction, Fiction, and poetry in pursuit of the value of language.
An American Reverie: Merle Haggard
Merle Haggard or as I still prefer to address him, “The Hag” is an artist that now unfortunately gone has imbued my life with a deeper connection to and reconciliation with life. Merle's many songs of longing, running, loving, and drinking ballads calls out as if every song struck into the core of America. Perhaps it’s because of his ability to not only penetrate the heart of being in his music and grasp the wide variety of thoughts, emotions, and actions everyone is likely to encounter throughout life. He paints a window and then with a guiding hand reaches out and pulls you into the expression of his music. In my opinion if you compiled all of The Hag’s music you would get a full picture of the depth and breadth of human existence. Perhaps the song of choice being, (I'm Gonna Paint Me) A Bed of Roses illuminates just how far out he can stretch beyond a country musician and into the depths of human being.
Psychological War & The Art of Deception
Nobody would ever confess to a crime they didn’t commit right? People wouldn’t ever lie about committing some abhorrent crime in which they were innocent. A still all too commonly held belief in society. A common misconception that doesn’t reveal the full art of deception and warfare on the human mind that occurs during the interrogation process. Every person has their breaking point on a spectrum of mental fortitude that varies. Again every single person can be convinced into conspiracy even if against themselves after a certain amount of psychological warfare has been waged against them.
Cartwheels of Time
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Is this to be my fate? He pondered. Am I dead? His thought continued on as everlasting darkness eclipsed the frontiers of his mind. His breath hastened, shallow and became increasingly difficult. His heart began thumping rapidly as if trying to break free from his own chest! He could feel his face turning to a ghostly white dampened by the sweat seeping from his pores. This was no dream he’d imagined. His arm frantically was slamming into the side of his right leg as it was beginning to uncontrollably spasm. Where’s the button he contemplated, I must find it.