‘W’r’i’t’e’r’s’ M’a’d’n’e’s’s’

Flowing grey, colors gloom, 

Days to nights the hours zoom.

Sitting working writing lots.

Smelling words, sniffing jots.

Tired? Never. Restless? Yes sir.

Can’t put down the dream today I don’t think this dream will go away.

Got no reason for my belief except to say I’ve grown the seed.

What can be said about passion like this – a longing a turning an obsessive fit?

Oh not too much, except what they say – a passionate man can be so unsafe.

That living obsession and fuming too much and striving too hard and churning and such,

Can lead to madness, all scrambled thoughts. Can leave you with nothing but the knowledge you’ve lost.

But oh what to do! I cry but a tear! For it’s not my fault I’m a writer, those words brought me here!

– Thomas M. Watt

Perhaps I’m Not an Idiot

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Tired eyes, sleepy sighs, words are ringing singing rhymes,

Bells are back, the ruse it floats, I’d sure love to write good quotes,

Hope someday this dreams lands here in this present atmosphere,

Keep on going, almost there, getting close produces scare.

How much better can this be? How much work I’ve done for free.

All for one to read it true, all for buyers to say I do.

Cannot imagine a greater feeling than to produce an intrigued viewing.

Read my book, won’t you please, take a look, enjoy the read.

If you don’t, I don’t care… No I’m kidding to be fair.

Writing words that make you quit will make me throw a childish fit.

But to see you turn that page, just to feel you feel my rage,

To know the man is not alone, to know for sure I wrote true prose,

Just to see you stop and stare, to feel your eyes on what I’ve put there.

To know my pen produced that scribble, to hear my page played like a fiddle,

To know I’ve conquered the t.v., to see for once the thoughts of me –

Carried on into another, shared by those who pass the cover.

To see the work amount to glee, to know for once I’m not diseased.

Finding out is not so bad, as long as finding makes you glad.

– Thomas M. Watt

Intuition Reigns Supreme

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Do this, do that, it goes this way too.

You’re wrong, just look, it says right here –

“You will look foolish if you do the thing they say not to do. All sure knows this one rule shows the profession of your technique.”

Guess what my friend, I’ve reached the end, of what this logic means to me.

It means just this – don’t listen to shit. Study what you think.

When you read Harry Potter are you bothered by the adverbs in the read? 

In every profession there is a way the whole crowd surely goes. Turn the other and then go, run from Art’s true foes.

Go the path which most can’t see, where blind men cannot walk. Stride on by the snobby eyes and ignore those who scold.

Then when do we listen, how do learn, what’s the method I preach to you? I say come notice the best in life are those who expose the truth. The surface lies, but hearts divide. From passion and focus, comes true poets, artists and thinkers and you.

– Thomas M. Watt

An Overlooked Passage

There is a passage in the bible where Jesus feeds five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish.

The food appears to be the same before and after it is raised up to God. There are no additional loaves of bread, and nothing magical happens. So how can we understand this?

The bread is ordinary bread. A person is an ordinary person. We have problems, fears, worries and doubts. We have faced terrible events in our lives that still bother us today.

When you are far from God, in your natural state, all these problems weigh you down. They all seem to be purposeless, random events and make you into a limited being. For instance, because of what happened to you in your past, the future is now bleak.

When you give yourself to God completely, he takes all you have and makes use of it. Your prior struggles help others to Him, your defects suddenly have a purpose. He takes every piece of you and uses it to feed his cause, to feed others. You become the bread that is enough to fill others with the Spirit of God and you will never run thin doing it.

What you have is already enough to serve God’s purpose. He does not need you to become perfect before He can work through you. That is the point – what is given to God will be used by God. It is not your job to create a new self, it is your job to give your being to him. And even then, you will on the outset appear the same, your being will remain the same, but the Spirit will guide you through your work.

It is each man’s choice to keep himself or to give himself to God.

– Thomas M. Watt

Dear Nineteen Year Old Self

Dear nineteen year old self,

Remember how you used to wonder why all the girls your age liked the older guys? And how you couldn’t understand why the older guys were able to walk away from the ‘hotties’ like they meant nothing to them? Guess what – We finally figured it out!

The answer is, as you get older, life happens, and you actually have to do shit. So, you no longer pretend like you have shit to do, but you actually really do have shit to do! As far as maturity goes, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, just try to pretend like your mature. Maturity doesn’t actually happen to guys, they just learn how to trick people better.

And when girls talk about how they really like dreamers and whimsical guys? Yeah, I would pretty much ignore that. Just try to complement them a lot and listen when you talk. They really don’t care about your biceps half as much as you think. In fact, as you get older, you will start to learn that nobody really gives a shit about you! For this reason, you should probably take your work a little more seriously, and that girl who takes really long to text you back a little less.

Sincerely yours,

Your older self.

30 Days of Listening – Day One

I’ve spent the last year of my life in utter isolation writing a book series from start to finish. During that time, as you can imagine, I talked very little. Since the time of finishing the book series, I have reentered the world of talking humans, and sought to tell them about my book, get them to read my book, and insist upon them just how great my book truly is.

Nobody wants to read my book.

Do you know why? We live in a world where relationships are a two-part effort. In order for someone to take an interest in you, you must have an interest in them. I have realized that I love to talk, and hate to listen. I also realize that everyone else is pretty much the same way. 

For this reason, I intend to listen and learn from people as much as humanly possible. I intend to hear out any person who will speak, which for me is most often going to be Starbucks employees, grocery store workers, and people I run into on the streets. I am going to write a short story about my encounters everyday, in order to be certain I listen, and also to show the beauty which surrounds us, yet we so often fail to take notice of. I can promise you the stories will be true, and I will do my best to portray any person I meet in a heroic light, for we are all heroes in our own journeys. 

Day One – Doug

Doug is my friend from Rite-aid. I go into rite-aid frequently, and he is one of the very few people I have gotten to know over the last year. He listens to me rant constantly about my book, actually is going to read my book, and sounds as though he likes my book. But today, ladies and gentlemen, our story is about Doug, and not my book.

Doug has wispy white hair and small glasses. He is always an exciting person to talk to, and more than a few customers greet him on a friendly basis. He has worked in my neighborhood for over thirty years, working at the photo-department of K-mart before he came over to Rite-aid. He cherishes the art of developing negatives and working with black-and-whites. When he was in high school, he used to write, but always had a difficult time with music and other forms of art. He is arguably the kindest gentlemen I have ever known. He has a wife and a daughter who used to dance. Just today as I approached him, he spoke about how hectic the night was. He had just met with a woman who had been married for fifty years and was going to separate from her husband. He was visibly upset about the matter. 

We spoke briefly about writing, and I encouraged him to come on over to wordpress and create his own blog. He insisted he wasn’t sharp enough, which in all my findings usually means he is probably a great writer who is all-too-critical of himself. 

Of course, as Doug always does, he eventually turned the conversation over to me, in order to listen to the on-goings of my own life. Doug is a great guy, and I would be lucky to turn out like him. Day after day, he brings smiles on the faces of his customers, and listens to people who don’t get listened to very often. People like Doug are the salt of the earth, I can only hope to be as good a listener as he one day. I truly hope I can get my book series published in order to thank him in print so all will know how much his encouragement has helped me and sustained my desire to pursue my dream. Thank you Dougy, we need more people like you.

– Thomas M. Watt

Eddy the Loser

At a classroom in Georgia, the teacher, Mr. Rickert, was addressing his pupils. He stood at the front, and was speaking about Ernest Hemmingway, and more specifically, the prolific author’s contributions to literature. The entire class was jotting down notes on what he said made Hemmingway on such a great writer, and why he was so successful. Everyone in the class was taking notes, aside from Eddy, who was dressed in all black, had a hoodie over his head, and his page was covered in penis doodles. He sat there, rocking back and forth, until he suddenly hunched over and began to smash his own forehead into the desk, over and over.

“Eddy!” scolded Mr. Reckert. “Take your headphones out and listen up!”

Eddy did, though with a sigh. He sat back and stared back to his teacher.

“I don’t like your attitude young man. I don’t like it at all.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Eddy.

The lecture went on, until, fifteen minutes later, Eddy sat at his desk with his head between his arms, face down.

“Eddy!” shouted Mr. Rickert again, swiftly moving towards the young man then pulling him up by the back of his hoodie. “If you’re not going to pay attention, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room immediately. I will not have you disrupting my class anymore.”

Eddy sat up, shook his head side to side, then muttered under his breath, “How am I disrupting the class by sleeping?”

Mr. Rickert heard him, and yelled back at once. “Young man, that’s it. Principle’s office. Now.”

“Why?” said, Eddy, standing from his seat.

Mr. Rickert folded his arms over his chest. “Because I’m tired of your antics. Always trying to get attention for being a loser, and you’re missing all the important lessons. You realize you’re going to fail literature this semester, don’t you?”

Eddy looked away. “Yes, sir.”

“Then maybe you should take studying more seriously. I hate to be the one who tells you this young man, but you’re in for a rude awakening once you get to the real world.”

“Oh, didn’t know it was a different world than this one,” the boy responded, heading towards the door.

“An attitude like that will get you nowhere in life. You better clean it up now, young man.”

Eddy continued to the door, opened it a creak, then sighed, scratched the back of his head, then turned around, facing Mr. Rickert directly, and spoke with all the other faces looking dismissively back at him.

“Would if this is bull-shit, would if you are wrong. Would if Hemmingway just wrote his own mother-fucking song. Would if this class bores me, ’cause it’s too fast that I think. Would if the lessons you give to me, are not even reaching my own brink. Would I’m not dumb, would if you’re the clown. Would if I’m a writer, and the rest of you are sounds.”

“Eddy, I will have-” Began Mr. Rickert, before being cut off.

“Would if high school bores me, because it really is no test. Would if intelligence abounds me, because I’m smarter than the rest. Would if I’m not so dumb, would if that one is you. Would if I can’t pay attention because my words are actually what is true. So what if I’m a loser, I really do not care. What bothers me the most is that you study what has never once been there.”

“Eddy!” shouted Mr. Rickert. “Enough!”

“Would if you’re all wrong, and really I’m all right. Would if I’m the one who Mr. Hemmingway was like. And say he grew up like me, with teachers who didn’t care. And would if Ernest Hemmingway could see right through their stare.”

“Get out!” screamed Mr. Rickert.

Eddy went on. “Would if you are dull, would if you are weak. Would if all the grades are based on the ability to repeat. Would if I’m creative, would if that is me. Would if I’m the one who knows what it truly means to think.”

“Out!” screamed Mr. Rickert.

“Would if you are boring, would if that is true. Would if it’s not bullshit that I reiterate to you. Would if I am smart, much smarter than the rest. Would if you constrict me with these stupid fucking tests. Would if this is jokeful, all the shit you teach. Would if all your lessons are hogwash that your are told to preach.”

“EDDY!” Screamed Mr. Rickert, pointing out the door. “GET OUT!”

“Why can you not see it, why are you so blind. Why do I spend my whole life trying to show you fucking dumbass guys. Why is it I scare you, why is it that you’re stool. Why is it that these things you teach only make me fucking drool.”

“Dammit young man, do I have to have you escorted out of here?”

“What’s the point of trying, when the prideful think they’re best? What’s the point of learning, when it only brings about distress? For I know of what is wrong, I know of what is right, I know the things you say to me will never help me fucking write. I can see it more clearly, much more clear than you. I feel I understand everything, and yet you make up these imaginary rules. What is writing for? For what does it exist? Why are you so pathetic, and why do you insist? To teach things that don’t work, to teach what isn’t there. I’m pretty sure for Ernest, he didn’t fucking care. I think you are a joke, I think you are a fool, I think all that is wrong with learning, stems from guys like you.”

“That’s it! Detention! One week!”

“Do you want to know, the reasons that I do, do you ever want to know, why I so fucking hate you? Does it ever seem, to anyone but me, does it ever seem like we’re learning all of the wrong things? Does anyone else know, does anyone else care, does any one give a fuck about learning things that are not there? It is a fucking crime, more than half a shame, it is a damn hipocricy when ego’s steal a share. You do not know about me, you do not know the truth, that if Hemingway were here today, he’d like me much more than you.”

After Eddy met with the principal, he was suspended three weeks for inappropriate behavior, indecent drawings and using profanities in the classroom.

– Thomas M. Watt