Golf Shack

there are times when
a blue awning
on a slender pole
far back between two trees
kisses drops of rain
makes hair stand atop the knees
the daisies droop oh dreary day
yet hold their gold
the gold’s to stay
boulders bould and benches weep
bring the night it is to keep

Written c. summer 2014 at a mini golf course I worked at behind the counter, doling out clubs and chipped ice with sugar syrup. I read, did push-ups, and played games on a clunky laptop to pass the time. Some days I’d work with a friendly, weathered woman named Ginger who once traded a cigarette for a boat of fries at the adjoining restaurant.

Many familiar faces came through. There was an encounter with a therapist I’d seen once or twice—I forget why but it probably had something to do with appeasing my mother. We pretended we didn’t know each other, though maybe it was just me pretending and she never even recognized me.

Besides Ginger, there was a college girl named Amy¹ who dreamt of working as a museum curator. She’d regale me with historical happenings to help pass the time. It was quite a waste to pay more than one person to work the shack. Today, many years later, I think the restaurant hands out clubs. Minus one summer job for the listless teen.

Howdy world

This is a retro-post from a newsletter once associated with a previous email address I’d been using. Uploading here for archival purposes so it’s not lost when I stop paying for the old address.

How are ya? It’s me, ███. This barebones newsletter service released today as part of my new email sanctuary—HEY.

I’m comfy on my personal blog, ███.com, but it’s not suitable for notifying my minuscule readership of new posts. I sent something out from Substack once or twice but even that is too cumbersome for someone not [actively] trying to monetize their content.

Suppose this would work better, but there’s no way to carry over my mailing list and I’d hate to bug people to resubmit their emails, especially when I’m not posting consistently and just want to give folks a friendly nudge from time to time who’d maybe like to peruse my musings.

Not much else to say here yet. I’ll give a think about whether it’s worth trying to move over from Substack—perhaps if I decide to pick up regular posting again. Been in a lull.

With love,
███

Around the sun

I’ve been dreadfully uninspired, despite having plenty of time to laze about, contemplate, and hit the keyboard. A bout of cabin fever—though an isolated cabin would be much more conducive to compartmentalized thought. The aforepromised deeper-dive will have to be pushed further into uncertainty.

For now, I’m caught with an hour left in this time zone’s slow creak of the fourth numeral. For a few years now, I’ve kept an elastic-bound black notebook containing among its miscellany a breakdown of small goals for the year to follow. Earlier this year, I wrote on self improvement in an effort to get intimate with whatever modest audience might find their way here. In continuation of this effort, I’ll share with you my threefold constitution for 2021:

• Learn and apply something technical
• Contribute 250 words per day toward a singular work
• Meditate for 1 minute per day minimum

The deeper I tumble into both career and hobby, the more I’ve come to realize what I’m doing has been figured out along the way rather than studied and applied. Not sure whether this is an okay application of my ability to adapt or a bold waste of what could be honed execution of tasks—and far more full-bodied results. Either way, time spent is time spent and it’s up to the dissatisfied wedge in my mind muffin to try to apply more strategy and practice in my daily pursuits.

The second goal is a cheat off last year’s mantra to focus more on “my book”. It’s a more disciplined refinement that should inspire a modicum of guilt much like that which drives me to the dumbbells on alternate days of the week. I’m scared of the publishing process and of being lost in a sea of internet sludge. Trapped in a lost format fewer folks appreciate. But then why have I chosen to do it at all? For the same reason I’ve chosen to do anything else—it’s a true challenge. Can’t buy a byline.¹

Meditation is something I was introduced to in college and was fervently dedicated to during hour-long weekly sessions. Made me feel powerful. Alive. And not in the fake-ass way it’s advertised to you. You don’t need an app to meditate and should never pay a dime to do it.² I fell off the track and miss meditation. There are no excuses really. I’m getting back on with an impossible-to-evade one minute dose that’s sixty times smaller than what I use to take. An action that’s more about self discipline than immediate impact. Do it to do it. Prove to yourself you can.

And that’s what I have for you. My last words of 2020. I’m sad to let go of its symmetry. It’s a fantastic number to look at. Its fantasticality ends there. Au revoir, friend.

███