Day #4

I’m in love with Daria.

It’s the best show I’ve ever seen. So much so that I even purchased the season set. That’s a massive level of commitment – especially for me. I barely watch TV as it is but Daria tugs on my heartstrings. Rampant satire just makes me go nuts.

Atlanta’s tomorrow. Then it’s studying and certifications and a new career and maybe a defined path to my life. For once. The gym awaits once I’m back from Atlanta. I’m excited for that too.

Who would’ve known that I’d go from deep in my depression to going places and living and learning, making friends and connections, rising above the squalor I subjected myself to. It was a struggle… but now it isn’t.

Day #2

Sometimes I still think I want him. And then I realize I really don’t. That’s when it ends.

You can feel it when it’s happening. They stop texting you as often. The enthusiasm leaves their voice. They leave you on read. Like sand leaving your grasp, an hourglass turned over.

A relationship. You wanted a relationship. The dreams are vivid at first but as the sand grains flow they turn grayscale and lose detail.

You begin to feel like an acquaintance when before every aspect of their life was known to you. Shared like you belonged.

I think it’s a graceful end.


It’s 2018. A new year, new beginnings.

I think it’s time to make significant change in my life. I can do so much more and be so much more.

Here are a few of my resolutions (in no specific order as they are all equally important to me):

  • I want to journal everyday. I want to hone my writing skill and get comfortable with expressing myself in the written word again.
  • I want to get more comfortable with myself and as such I’m going to take a picture of myself everyday.
  • I want to start bulking up. Physical fitness is just as important as mental fitness… not that I’m mentally fit in any real fashion.
  • I want to read everyday. From just a few pages to an entire chapter.
  • I want to go back to college. Education is key to my success.

I’m going to stick with all of those resolutions as closely as I can. I want 2018 to be the best year of my life thus far.


Journal #3

It’s amazing how quickly time passes when you live weekend to weekend. It’s been said time and time again, but time really does fly by as you grow older – and I’m only 19.

In other news, I’ve been looking for a second job. Extra money would be nice to pad my savings even further. I’ve found that most problems in life are solved by having a healthy emergency fund. Honestly, most problems you may encounter in life stem from a lack of funds. Car breaks down? No money, no repairs made. It’s as simple as that.

I’m ready to leave Kansas. Live anywhere else, do anything else. Hopefully the Air Force helps me in that endeavour. Friends come and go but I’ll always be able to find new ones wherever I end up.

Journal #2

… It’s been how long?

8 months?

Jeez, I’m bad with keeping commitments. That’s become terribly obvious to me. I figured since I paid almost $100 for another year of hosting this blog that I might as well use it again.

Honestly, life hasn’t really changed too much in the 8 months since my last journal entry. I’ve worked on my Associate’s degree. I’ve decided to switch to a full-time position as well as getting a second job.

It’s almost August, which means I’ll finally be eligible for any branch of the Armed Forces… obviously I’m going Air Force. It’s been a dream of mine for years. Now it’s finally coming to fruition.

I’ve got to get on the grind of going to the gym, but I don’t even know where to start. Usually I’m pretty internet savvy but there are so many different guides to workouts. All I want to do is get fit and tone up. MyFitnessPal, Sweatcoin, and Habitica are all apps that have been instrumental in my admittedly unyielding fitness journey thus far.

I’ll attempt to journal every couple of days. Post pictures, document my life. I’ve paid for this space, might as well use it.

Journal #1

Let’s just get to the point: it’s like I’ve been wrapped up in some kind of pervasive writer’s block for the past few years. I mean… come on, if I can’t even journal on a semi-regular basis, what’s an aspiring writer supposed to do? Write?

From what I’ve read on the internet, that’s actually true. To overcome writer’s block, I need to write my brains out. Explore every single snippet of life, uncover every detail, usurp any semblance of privacy, and drill down to the core of my very being.

One thing I’ve noticed about myself is that I live for the dream. Some kind of idealization, a glittering sort of faint hope. I’ll become rich someday. Life will suddenly transform, terraformed with a Godly hand, into something much more enjoyable.

They say that you can’t buy happiness, but with ample financial padding you certainly have the tools to make yourself happy.

In short: a game plan, some semblance of a list, bullet points on paper, will help me ascend into my best self. Myself.

Jake – The Satire

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing this letter from my hospital bed. I have been wrongly accused of driving distractedly. Honestly, I was just answering a text from my girlfriend. After all, it was Valentine’s Day, and I was running late!

This law is ridiculous because it is infringing upon my 1st Amendment Constitutional rights as a citizen of the United States of America. The first amendment guarantees freedom of speech, which means I can speak when I please; which includes while driving. It is widely known that the government cannot pass laws that are unconstitutional – distracted driving laws are unconstitutional. The only reasonable solution is to abolish this law.

What’s worse? People dying or my rights being infringed upon? During the Revolutionary War, people died to ensure taxation with representation – which is a basic human right. Only nine people die from distracted driving per day, while 90 people per day die from drunk driving. 9 is less than 90. Obviously, it’s not as bad!

If your girlfriend was calling, wouldn’t you answer the phone? We all have phones for a reason. If we pay the phone bill, we should be able to use it. Anyway, we are all defensive drivers, which means everyone should watch out for me when I’m on the phone.

My insurance even deemed me a safe driver. Besides, accidents happen! You might say that I could wait to use my phone, but communication is important. At least that’s what my marriage counselor told me. And I can’t dictate because someone may listen in on my private conversations. I definitely can’t use a hands-free device because the sound quality is horrible. Phones to the ear all the way! The only solution is to abolish this law because it’s unconstitutional.

Am I even free to write this letter?



There were flames, and then there was Robert. He had eight kids he knew of, many more he didn’t. He slept in hay bales, on rafters, and within bushes. A bottle of vodka never left his person.

And he only had his parents to blame.

Robert rose from a knoll, covered in his vomit and coat of browning grass. Light filtered apprehensively through the canopy of branches. Thickets of shrubs adorned fallen trees. Petals danced in the light breeze. Robert turned his head towards the sound of crunching leaves.

“Daddy, is there a dead skunk around here?”

Daddy smelled his armpits before answering, “Most likely.”

The son and his father stepped into the clearing. Robert pulled a pistol from his pocket, shot the child first, then the father. As Robert walked into the forest, the child breathed his last.

And Robert only had his parents to blame.

With the rancid smell of alcohol on his breath, Robert stumbled upon a stream. He knelt in a cluster of ferns and drank some water from the sluggish flow. Robert shivered as another gust of wind carried more leaves in his direction.

Robert took out a match, lit it, and threw it into the brush. Fire almost instantly began to consume the brush. Smoke billowed into the light blue sky as the fire engulfed a tree, and then another, Flaming branches fell to the floor as pine cones exploded into smoke and flames. The fire began to inch over to the stream. Robert felt warm. His heart beat at an irregular rhythm as sweat dripped down his face.

He crossed the stream, saluted in the general direction of the two corpses he left in his wake, and walked further into the forest as more pine cones exploded behind him.

And his parents were only to blame.

Maybe Robert had a traumatic childhood. Maybe he didn’t. All he knew was the smell of alcohol, the pensive stare of the birds in the sky, the warmth of fire and the warmth of blood.

He knew nothing else except the ashes that blew in the wind.

Leaves crumbled under Robert’s boots as he desperately clung on to a tree after stumbling. He cursed the stones that rose like mountains from the forest floor. Trees reached into the sky like monoliths all around Robert. Suddenly, he heard the sound of passing cars.

Many passing cars.

Robert had stolen a car before. He knew he didn’t have a license. He took a swig from his bottle and swaggered out to the shoulder of the highway. He looked left, and he looked right.

He crossed into the middle of the highway.

Maybe the semi had time to stop. The bus certainly did. When the firefighters arrived at the highway – a river of pavement, tar, and passing dreams – they discovered Robert’s broken body. Bones jutted from smashed legs, hands clenched, lungs pierced. Robert’s blood slipped into cracks and potholes surrounding his body.

Robert let his life slip away.

With the ashes and charred trees and the two lives extinguished, Robert dealt much more pain than he felt.

No one came to his funeral, because no one knew him.

He never sought help.

Who drank the alcohol? Who dropped out of high school? Who shot a child? Who shot the child’s father?

We’re all born into different situations. It’s up to us to adapt and grow. We’re only children for so long. Move on.

Maybe Robert’s life could have ended differently. Blood on gray, blood in veins, blood spilled in vain. Streams of life splitting in many directions, subtle flow, dirt pulsing. Pebbles on the edge.

And Robert only had himself to blame.

The Media and Politics

Most millennials have come to prefer the “bitty over the meaty.” Nicholas Carr bashes modern media, claiming it “prizes emotionalism over reason,” saying we emphasize the visceral. This isn’t inherently wrong, in fact, this is inherently right in human nature. We rely on instinct, a raging force originating from billions of years ago that ultimately is what drives society. Carr can squawk about pseudo-intellectualism all he desires but politics are inseparable from emotion. The old media slaps headlines, captions, statistics, editorialized opinions, differing sides on to presidential campaigns like a deck of cards and expects the mess not to collapse.

Well, it has collapsed.

The laws, the bills, and the acts the President passes affect everyone in a multitude of ways. They can bring hardship – or prosperity. The bottom line is that what the government decides for us is what decides the condition of human society. We can suffer – or thrive. There are no grays. This is instinctual.

Six companies dominate the media industry. With social media, our ideal politicians can escape the woes of lacking corporate sponsorship and finally reach the people. We can now bask in Trump’s insanity firsthand, Clinton’s ferocious political correctness, Bernie’s magical way of stating the facts, and Ben Carson’s tendency to obfuscate the truth.

“Candidates who would have had no chance before the Internet can now overcome huge odds, with the people they energize serving as the backbone of their campaign,” and that’s just amazing.