Poetry, a little.

I like the sky. It looks nice. We can be nice. I’m tired, but I can still be nice and when that happens my hands won’t ache and my chest won’t feel so full; full like it’s going to burst unless I die, and maybe I shouldn’t die just yet because there’s so much to do that we have to do until it’s done, and maybe then.

-M. Taggart

My Passion

“If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.” E. Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms. 

In my opinion, This is great writing.

Every word put into place for a purpose. Every dot. Recently I was asked who has given me the best advice on how to write. I didn’t answer.. because a dead man did, and I never knew him.

Matt

How’s Your Wife

A few months back I was having a beer at the pub
The bartender always spoke highly of her husband
It’s nice to hear
I was reading short stories written by Hemingway
people asked what I was reading
I answered, “Hemingway”
She asked me, “What is it this time”
I said, “Hem”
She rattled off a number of stories written by a number of authors
I told her how good it was to hear how she loved her husband

A few weeks back I stopped at the brew store to buy good beer
A man was standing near the cash register talking
He’d already paid for his beer
he talked a lot
“When I go to a concert the girls love me. Last year this girl asked
if I wanted in on her and her friend.”
I asked, “How’s your wife?”
He told me a few more interesting things about the concert
and how amazing he was with women
“You know what I mean?” he asked..
I replied, “I actually like my wife.”

A few days ago I was having a beer at the pub
I was reading Bukowski
A few people asked what I was reading
I said, “Buk”
The bartender said, “I love his writing.”
I asked how she was and how her husband was

Today I stopped at the brew store for good beer
A man stood next to the cash register not talking
He shook hands with the owner of the brew store
“I’m sorry” the owner said
then the man hugged him
alone and alone and alone

I didn’t ask how his wife was

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

All the legends of writing that I care about. Fuck em.
I still love them. Ben Franklin ran away from his wife and stood in front of windows feeling for wind. How many quotes should I read.
Hem, my favorite.
Buk, you old fucker, finally being known, talking about creating, always creating no matter what, baby.
Fuck you.
Em..oh Em. You stood at the top of your stairs. You wrote your heart out.
You did’t pay for shit. You disregarded everything but yourself and had nothing more to do than think yourself into words.
I’ve been to your home. I lived near you. I see how they think.

Faulkner. Steinbeck. Let’s reach back and pull a bone,. None of you bastards talk about raising a child. None of you. As much as I think you are all brilliant. You are weak.

Take the trash out. The one filled with shit diapers.
Smelling while you walk. Hoping you can make it to the dumpster before they wake up.
Wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t fall asleep. Fever. Screaming while you hold your cell phone in front of you thumbing your way to, create baby, create. Fuck you Buk. I know I could kick your ass. Walk on all the glass you want. You’ve become the same annoyance you complained Hem was.

The every day happening of an infant turning into a young child, cared for by a man is dispersed into feminist hatred.

We father’s who take care of our children will be forgotten. None of you are willing to write about us.

 

 

 

Hemingway. A small piece.

‘Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well. Well, he would not have to fail at trying to write them either. Maybe you could never write them, and that was why you put them off and delayed the starting.’ -Hemingway, ‘The Snow Of Kilimanjaro’

A brilliant short story written by my favorite author. Notice his use of words and non commas when many would argue a comma was needed. I would debate that the commas not used were by design and the flow of the sentence as Hemingway saw it in his mind is much more important than where a comma ought to have been placed. The first line is a good example of what I’m typing about. Imagine a comma after ‘Now’ the entire sentence would stall. In my opinion he wanted the reader to keep pace, or to speed up.

And further, what Hemingway is writing about is truth. All of us writing currently, or whom have stopped writing, know exactly what Hemingway is talking about. For Hemingway to sum it up in one fucking sentence is why I honor the man. There is only one Hemingway and there can never be another.

I appreciate any and all of you who have continued to read my work.

Read on. It’s good for the brain.