It is a miracle that any of us is alive by the time we reach…my age. The heartaches of life beat us down, threatening to grind the fragile life from our bones. What man alive has not wondered what it would be like to lie down and die, leaving the pain behind before it is time?

No, I’m not suicidal. Far from it. I am merely observant and I am allowed, yea, entitled to be observant without the judgment of others. Not many have the audacity to broach topics of this nature, considered forbidden by the masses, for to do so surely soils the soul of the guilty, but only in the eyes of the weak and fearful, and I do not fear their judgment.
I am not afraid of death but I prefer not to die just yet because I am so much in love with those around me and their presence brings me so much joy. Isn’t this what the Creator intended? Yes, I think so too.

So, rather than dwell on death, I merely find it a miracle that any of us lives long enough to enjoy the love of another.

Don’t die, Rod. Not just yet, and when you do, rest in peace, leaving behind the faint aroma of hope.

Many many years from now, late at night when no one else is around and an almost imperceptible aroma of love and hope graces the space wherein you dwell, think of me and how happy I am and remember that I was a living miracle, a glimmer of hope, a vessel of love that overflowed at the slightest touch…finally.

I have added several items in the Music and Poetry section and also Earl’s Bafroom Book.

Take a look and let me know what you think.

I have hundreds more items to add to the site and will be doing so as time permits.

02/20/08 - Added more to the Music and Poetry section.

This photo was taken in the village of Ayod during the Sudan famine crisis, the picture depicts a small, starving Sudanese child being stalked by a vulture. The photograph earned Kevin Carter a Nobel Prize in 1994. He committed suicide that same year. He left this note.

“I am depressed … without phone … money for rent … money for child support … money for debts … money!!! … I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings & corpses & anger & pain … of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners…I have gone to join Ken if I am that lucky.”

There are things in this life that a man should never see or experience because their memory burns a hole through the soul that time can never heal.

Their words bathed in tears of emotional pain, writers often offer a glimpse into the hole. They cope by sharing. Their stories are more than literary outbursts of imagination. They are an intricate matrix of existence that borders on the spiritual.

I left work with 4 gallons of gas in my tank. I decided to see if I could make it home without running out. Some people think that’s abnormal, but to me, it was a challenge.

I made it. They were wrong and I am sure quite embarrassed by their doubt. Next time, I try making it home with less.

I’m a wild man.

You can’t stop me.

I’ll take you down with me.

Hundreds of items uploaded to the site this weekend with many more to come. Let me know what you think so far.