Can’t Let Go

Stephanie twisted and turned, covering the sheet over her eyes once more before peeling it off with a whine. It was a new day, the sun was up, and it was time to make a decision.

She sat up in her bed, then scooted until she stooped over the side. She picked up her cell phone again, and reread the last text she had received the night before.

Please forgive me. Please just let it go.

She smeared her face into her hand, then pressed the small keys firmly as she typed, before finally throwing it down, into a messy pile of bras and yoga pants in the corner of her room. She went into the kitchen and brewed herself a cup of coffee.

Returning to her room, she retrieved the phone, then brought it with her to the living room couch. She sat there for sometime, fumbling in her mind for what to respond. Her phone vibrated, and another text came through.

It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done it. Please forgive me.

Stephanie gripped her hand into a claw, then rubbed a fist into her eye. She tossed the phone aside, grabbed a blanket, then curled up and turned on the T.V..

For a while, she tried to watch, but the thoughts wouldn’t cease. Finally, she picked up her cell, then returned to him.

I’m sorry babe, but I can’t forgive you this time.

It was only half a minute before her phone vibrated again.

Why?

She ran a hand through her hair, then felt like death as she responded.

Because she was my best friend.

Stephanie sent it, threw the phone down, and covered herself up with blankets then cried.

Lumberjack Sam

At a big business party, all the suits were in full attendance, laughing and drinking and carousing as suits must do. There was one particular employee, however, who wore a big burly beard. He wore suspenders to work everyday, big tall boots, and often times told tales about the trees he’d chopped down, and the ten years he spent living in a cabin on a snowy mountain, seeing nobody and being visited by no one.

They allowed him to work there on the basis that he was simply the best at what he did. He never took breaks, arrived early everyday, and handled every report and procedural conduct like he was born with the innate ability to be good at things. Yet, though they nicknamed him, ‘Lumberjack Sam’, his fellow employees didn’t like him very much. They often spoke of reasons to dismiss him(none pertaining to his ability to work) and always stared smugly at him, as if he was a figure to look down upon for merely the way he dressed and the way he handled other people.

At this particular business party, Lumberjack Sam was sitting in the far back corner, drinking a beer by himself(as usual), when suddenly, he busted out a guitar, made his way to center stage, sat down on a little stool, and started playing a country style tune. Here’s how it went.

“Hello everybody my name is Sam and I am that damn old lumberjack man,

The one who dresses like a pig, beard to big and run down sleeves,

He chops down wood all in his sleep and damn his pits smell like disease,

I just came to tell you all, that I’m too old to deal with yall,

‘Cause life’s too short to live like a fart, too whine and moan then fuckin’ groan,

I came here to tell you today that fuck your troubles I’m goin’ away,

‘Cause I done worked a time or two, and fuck me silly I done better than you,

I did the shit I was supposed too, then checked it twice and gave it to you,

You have these parties where I don’t mean shit, y’all just hope I up and quit,

Well guess what you dumb ignorant sons, I’m the reason this company runs,

Without me you won’t do shit, just talk about some other bitch,

Think of me a time or two, still rememberin’ how I beat you,

That’s when you’ll see just what I do, mean much more than your kiss-ass views,

‘Cause there’s this thing that’s called money, and that shit don’t just grow on trees,

So tell your friends you like ’em all, hell tell yourself you’re extra tall,

But when it comes down to it friends, remember when this company ends,

That I came here and you heard me speak, and did away with all that sheet,

You let me go because, I know, I’m too damn grumpy and fuckin’ old,

But there is this thing at work you do, try it once or a time or two,

‘Cause when you care about political things, you lose the one who actually brings,

The money in into your wallet, ’cause those damn coins don’t just deposit,

I make the cents and I make the dollars, but now I’m gone so don’t be bothered,

Have fun with your drinks and shit, but remember when this company fails,

it’s cause Lumberjack Sam just up and bailed.”

Lumberjack Sam walked off the stage, and was never seen again. Curiously, however, two years later, after the company was bought and every employee was laid off, it came after the purchase by a billionaire wearing tall black boots who had a beard down to his chest.

– Thomas M. Watt

Art

A poet’s share is words in twine,

a lion’s scare is roar in time.

A wise man’s vice is pride of self,

a woman’s touch is good for health.

The love of life of loving things,

the life of virtue beats disease,

Let it all go, if you all please,

let these things go and keep with me,

A node of thought is thought too much,

a thought of worry can defeat such,

A glare A stare A thought for you,

how many eyes have fought here too.

A young girl’s breast, a sweet girls kiss,

the taste of honey drips from sweet lips.

Such and such and such and stew,

Love with love what love can do,

When evil dies all good arises,

death to violence and peace surmises,

Read a book and see what time is.

Life alone of suffering,

or life of friends that nothing brings,

It would be fun for me to think,

If all the poets could compete,

If all the writers could act as men,

if all the artist saw to the end.

If all thought died, I thought I think,

I’d like to view art as the sea.

To set the scale on art yet shown,

to rate the work on truth alone,

Get these thoughts all out I think,

get them out and watch what art brings.

To view the work as what man do,

and cease to judge based on your view,

To accept a thought a thought I think,

to rate the poet by his own ink.

To see the work as his work do,

and ignore the man who captures you,

For all the artists think alike,

all great thinkers have a sight.

All great minds are troubled too,

and all great judges judge those too.

How nice the thought, the thought I think,

how nice the day when poets drink.

To the rhymes of words of words forgotten,

ignoring views of what was blotted.

And knowing what matters is what words means,

This is not sameness, or re-la-ting.

This is to say all art will show much,

including truth and injustice.

Sin of evil, good in God, art is the vessel that man has got.

– Thomas M. Watt

Trouble’s fade

A way, a trouble, a thought aglow,

these are the forms all people know,

to seek no comfort is for the few,

to seek to know more like you,

to rise at morning past forgotten,

to sleep at night with woes down-trodden,

to seek what’s hard is hard to seek,

to strive for more is effort’s peak.

It is impossible as man once said,

it is too hard for most to tread,

the path to do what you want to,

the path to see what is beyond it too.

The way to be, to live and breath,

the life of struggle is for me.

For see small problems and how they pass,

Observe nature and the way similes lasts.

Do not fear do not be afraid,

Do not be angry and do not rage,

When failure comes smashing through,

Remember what I spoke to you,

Nothing happens from scared man’s rest,

only less struggle, and less distress.

If you wish to see dreams do,

if you want to live them through.

Get up, get out, and try away,

count your troubles then watch them fade.

– Thomas M. Watt

Attention Bloggers

Does anyone know anything about WordPress? I believe it is time to take my blog to the next level. And by next level, I mean from amateur hour to half-decent homepage. As of right now, I don’t know anything about anything, and nothing about nothing. All I’m looking for is some advice to take this thing from embarrassing to a chuckle, so no overwhelming input like ‘digitize your quantosphere’ or stuff of that nature. I’m looking for, ‘click here, and then press that button, and presto!’ Specifically, I am getting a great many views on the home page/archives. I would like to get more view on specific postings I have published, yet nobody seems to click on them. Am I an idiot? Of course not. Do I want you to teach me as if I am an idiot? Well…okay. So shoot away tech-squad, feed me with your suggestions/valuable input/ complicated button clickings.

Thanks,

All of us at the McWatty9 technical center (two hands that can type pretty good)

Press Briefing – August 18, 2013

(Reporters murmuring to one another about the current state of McWatty9, wondering what is to come. The tone is worry, the feel is scared, and the state of the Watties is, in every way, uneasy. McWatty9 walks through the red curtain, and the moment he does, silence ensues. He approached with his head down and lips pinned together, with hands clasped somewhere behind his lower back. He address the Wattie nation from behind the big black microphone and the cherry wood podium)

McWatty9 – Hello my fellow Watties. As you may well know, the past two days have been dismal, to say the least. Yesterday, I failed to put forward a single post. Today, I have put together two posts, both of which I believe are exceptionally mediocre. I am sad to stay that the state of this once decent nation has been dipping at the World Polls steadily over the last couple of days.

(The reporters all whisper to one another quickly, before stopping as soon as McWatty9 continues)

McWatty9 – However, it should not go unnoticed that we have also made some significant strides over the course of the last week. We have developed a small following in the great nation of Austrailia, who support our notion to end Foster’s brewery. We have received daily visits from the United Kingdom, and I had the pleasure of speaking with King Everything Iz Great this morning, who informed me that he and his kingdom will be there to support me no matter what, and are still thinking of me daily in there morning hand-holding embracement.

We received a visit from Sweden, and, more importantly than anything on the world wide web, I had the pleasure of meeting an unbelievably attractive native of Denmark in real life. She sat beside me on the plane flight, was stunning, absolutely beautiful, and had quite possibly the sexiest accent I have ever heard.

(The reporters cheer mildly)

McWatty9 – Also of note, as many of you have been wondering, I am ridiculously excited to say, on August the 19th, the man from India mis-clicked on my blog once more, and we did indeed receive his view.

(The reporters go wild, all breaking out in a unanimous chant of, ‘India! India! India!’ Several beers snap open, some are drenching one another with suds, all are either high-fiving or chest bumping. McWatty9 outstretches both arms to finally calm the festive audience.)

Now then, I would like to get back to the matter of work, but have decided that it is only fair for me to take some questions.

(Many reporters raise their hands, eagerly waving for McWatty9 to call on them.)

McWatty9 – (pointing) Yes, Bill.

Bill – (Standing up) McWatty9, what do you think led to the recent struggles at the world polls?

McWatty9 – Well Bill, I’m glad you asked that. Earlier this week, I published a post entitled ‘Alien Abduction’. It was a terrible post, quite possibly my worst all time, and did little to amuse even the laughiest of viewers.

(Reporters raise their hands once more)

McWatty9 – (Pointing) Yes, Allison.

Allison – (standing up) McWatty9, you’ve published very little humor this week. Care to comment on the recent change in standing?

McWatty9 – Yes, yes, thank you Allison, fair question. Recently, it has come to my attention that much of my humor borders on idiocy. Seeing as how I created this blog in order to get my trilogy published, of which more aptly belongs to the genre of spiritual fantasy, I have taken it upon myself to publish more sophisticated works, in order to gain the attention and praise from the snobs that be in the world of serious writing.

Snobert – (standing up, pushing his glasses closer to his nose) Are you aware there is no current genre with any such title?

McWatty9 – (Dismissively) Yeah whatever Snobert just sit the fuck back down.

(Reporters grow loud, raise their hands once more)

McWatty9 – (Pointing) Yes, Wilma.

Wilma – (Speaking quickly) How has the change of direction gone for you?

McWatty9 – (sighing, playing with the coat tails of his suit coat) Well Wilma, not so good. I received some support from sharplittlepencil, who liked my romantic style postings, and beforehand admitted to spitting on her keyboard from one of my funnier posts.

Bob – (standing and shouting on his own accord) But isn’t it true your serious posts have mainly gone to shit?

McWatty9 – (groaning) Yes Bob, so far they have. But I am proud of them, a couple of others have like them, and your pretty much a jerk so shut up.

(Bob sits back down sadly, more reporters scuffle to raise their hands)

McWatty9 – (Pointing) Yes, Alejandro.

Alejandro – (Speaking with an Alejandro-esque accent) Monsieur, is it true you have a very large dookie sitting in your toilet bowl, right now?

McWatty9 – (Scratching back of neck) Alejandro, I cannot say I’m glad you asked that, but I guess I can only expect questions like that when I leave the forum wide open for questioning. This morning, around nine A.M. Matt Mulleweg time, I did take a dump, and one very large log in particular came out. It was curved at both ends, and refused to go down the drain upon flushing. Clogging could not help it, for it was never stuck, it just refused to go down. It remains there at this hour, and is an issue me and my staff will be working to fix late into the night, until we get that sucker to go down for good. I debated with myself whether to post this startling information, but at the time I did not, and regret the fact you’ve forced me to reveal such a disgusting, yet impressive, feature of my life. That will be all for the time being.

(McWatty9 steps down from the podium even as reporters continue to shout out random irrelevant questions, mostly pertaining to the size of the log in question. Pictures are taken, funny names for headlines are scribbled, and McWatty9 disappears behind the red curtain in the back of the stage.)