On boots and bars and motorbikes...

I doubt it'll do much. Why waste your time? It's better left to the coming darkness. That's what voices resonating in my head tell me. You ever heard them? I do all the time... Sure, those prizes sure look good--$1,000 here, $3,000 there, and always, there's the ever-elusive and perfunctory word so cherished by the wannabe world of aspirants--Publication. With a capital P. So I try today, as I have for the last few days now, entering a few words in the contests those writer magazines all the time advertise. Of course, that ever-elusive "Publication" I so long for? Most of it's in crap even I've never heard of, much less any of my biker buddies. Won't even know if they run it, to be perfectly honest, not without them telling me they did, anyway. Not like I'll ever run across a couple browsing a newsstand someplace, that's for sure. Still, despite it all, something in me wants it still, desires it so. Publication. Capital P or otherwi

You gotta love you some online classes, every once in a while. I banged this out over the weekend for one of mine, destined for a professor who specifically asked that we creative types showcase some our talents. Well, he asked for it: [In response to suffering through Between the Acts by English author and early feminist Virginia Woolf, a book written within a single day's timespan of a family and their home, just days before the outbreak of World War II.]  F irst off, I gotta apologize for my ramble. I’ve always been on the long-winded side to begin with, but this writing business with my thesis project is definitely bringing it to an all-new level of annoying, I’m sure. I’m trying to get down every detail possible right now in creation mode, sort it all out later. It’s hard to shut that switch off once you let it loose, so sorry if this gets even longer and windier than my usual. To those of you already familiar with my work, welcome back. The those of you not: I'm

I haven't made any absolute decisions one way or another just yet, but for an introductory and rather experimental writing project, I thought it might be best to keep things very plain and simple -- black on white -- but  describing that particular cover design was going to be a nightmare for someone who hasn't played the font name game in some years now... HAP HAZ ARD A poetry collection by bobby Horecka If nothing else, I figure it offers an apt description of my poetic abilities. A poet I am not, nor do I claim I might ever be. It's a fact I've simply come to accept, personally, and it's a fact I doubt I'll need to argue much with anyone after they see an example or two of what I'm trying to pass off as poetry... But there is a heap--if not heap, per se, a pile of some magnitude, at very least--of poetry contests coming up in some of our country's largest and most well-respected literary journals and p

Please indulge me one day more Antipathy gravy spoon-fed be spider Rocket slowly damsel dreamer The dearly departed detestable deportees defect indifferently at Desdemona detour deny the                          despondent dire drivel      of        driveway debutants yearning confounds the drip-dry-dripping of heart strings rip-sliding-ripping more a saw-grip-gnawing impatient hands breast pawing molest malevolent nip without mauling take care to kiss delectable dewdrops delicate velvet gypsy jasmine just make sure she's devoured eternally inextinguishable decipher the indistinguishable conscript and let the soul sappers slalom dance jig n schottische respectfully irreverent irrespective irrelevant but to a fault were his loyalties or so it is said n i  f g a g a good GOD h  l t   l     so seductively silent its almost shameful                                or at least                                 it should be.