This poetry collection begins in high school, but ends somewhere in life. It begins with this: "Experiences as a Substitute Teacher. Public high school of higher education but never higher than God. Sitting there, the pedagogue without authority real. Never seeking the real authority. Time. Taking attendance. Giving assignments. Sitting there. Looking up at the ceiling, Sitting there. Students sit. Ignore. Time goes. Sitting there, students. Past and present. Sitting there. Writing the poems of the displaced, poems of: The tired, The bored, The alienated, The dysfunctional. Alienated....

The Burning Cauldron & Working Towards Death are two essays that philosophically delve into the inner world of one character's contorted thoughts. Here are a few excerpts: ....What's this book about? Not into judgment even based on scientific observation. Anyway, not sure what anything is or is supposed to be. Just know that the book is not an entertaining story of between two hundred and a thousand pages that is only a cracked mirror held up to the human soul and found wanting. The book is just a string of words that seek to instruct, to lead, to influence and take you into the world of...

John Nat not your typical young, angry American neo-Nazi. A hater, yes, turned criminal, yes, but his complexity runs deeper. John Nat is more than a fascist or anarchist; he's a nihilist with pretensions. That separates him from the others, and makes him more dangerous. He commits abominations while leaving the reader wondering why. A wild teen whose behavior may be a roadmap to the inconsistencies of the twenty-first century, he's best understood by quoting John Nat's own words. "Hazy and cloudy, or maybe shadowy and dark, the blackness of black which is akin to the whiteness of white....

What do we have? Nonfiction? Fiction? Philosophy? Who cares We do have a man of the 20th and 21st centuries attempting to jot down his daily thoughts. We have a mental diary, or, the diary of somebody who is mental; here, here thoughts of the mental (case), rather than thoughts of the actions of the mental (case). It's a diary of a neurotic, and the neurotic is one precisely because he's not a man of action, not a person of physicality, just one whose main exercise is conjecture, speculation, and obsessive questioning. He, I, is a sportsman of his own mind. Writing about the mental grind of...

So what's middle age anyway except a state of mind that some struggle to get through and overcome. Here's a collection of poems that deals with the everything that come with it. The book opens with: STRUMMING THROUGH MIDDLE AGE: Strumming as in humming, humming as in thumbing, thumbing as in reclining through life without the will to sit up. Passing shapes, passing figures, stick figures, strumming by, running by. Running? Really running, not strumming. Man on your left, lady on your right, running. Gone today, gone tomorrow. Whose strumming now? Me, you, him? Whose humming, me, you, him?...

You are born, live, and die. Sometimes, though, it isn't that simple. Life loops. Somebody once told me, you're born an infant, dependent for your sustenance e on others. Grow old, you revert to infancy. You have to be fed, diapered, washed and put to sleep. It's true, but not written in stone. Not all of us live to old age. Some die young with their complete mental and physical faculties intact. Others live long lives in relatively good health until the end. Not all become mentally and physically infirm. Yet, many do. Old age, what comes with it? Think of hospitals, nursing care, doctors,...

Ordinary people not involved in romantic escapes or mysterious murders, ordinary, living every day routinely. Their lives are interesting because all lives are, and bizarre and different. A fact of life lived in the fast lane but never acknowledged. Behind and inside closed doors, ordinary people exist with extraordinary, distinctive lives that are funny, happy, ugly or sad, but distinctive. Ordinary people, out there, each involved in the daily struggle with family, work, health, politics, the greater world; A struggle to compete, get ahead, keep ahead, and keep from drowning. Getting up in...

A novel that isn't a real novel; a novel that really is the rambling of a disjointed 21st century dude exhibiting cerebral symptoms caused by inhaling the hashish haze overhead. Being stoned to release the inner self; reaching that higher state of consciousness, and then gaining a real understanding, that's what that's what we have. We also have the opportunity to dig deep into the tender bowels of an individual's psyche and unearth the inner dimensions of the idea. Unearthing it all, unearthing the mind's fertile crescent in which action transpires and action inspires to set an action hero...

Everybody does it; everybody has to do it; everybody has to live through it. Whether you're born of wealth or into poverty, you cannot avoid it Work, as in going to work, that's it. Work, it's the crux of the matter for those who live on Earth. Today, most toil at jobs in modern office buildings with computers and gadgets to process and transmit digitized information. Who do we work for? In one way or another, for major corporations that control all. We workers are specs in the system. Our lives are consumed in that system. That's why we need to take a closer at what the job means. Who is...

So what's middle age anyway except a state of mind that some struggle to get through and overcome. Here's a collection of poems that deals with the everything that come with it. The book opens with: STRUMMING THROUGH MIDDLE AGE. "Strumming as in humming, humming as in thumbing, thumbing as in reclining through life without the will to sit up. Passing shapes, passing figures, stick figures, strumming by, running by. Running? Really running, not strumming. Man on your left, lady on your right, running. Gone today, gone tomorrow. Whose strumming now? Me, you, him? Whose humming, me, you, him?...