Truth

“To be alive at all is to have scars.”    -The Winter of Our Discontent. John Steinbeck.

 

This line stopped my reading promptly. A clean, impactful, line of literature has that affect on me.

for the love of books

I love to read.

Yesterday I purchased two used books from a very used bookstore
Hemingway and Steinbeck

I lazily tossed both on top of a shelf in my office
Maybe I’ll read them at the same time

One cubby hole down sits Bukowski
which happens to be next to a few books that I’m published in

and on the floor, near my right foot, The Unabridged
Edgar Allan Poe. That’s literally the name of the book

In back of my chair is a box that I have yet to completely unpack
In the box are a number of books, books, books.

On my desk sits Final Harvest, Emily Dickinson
It’s impossible for my person to become bored

oh, and I just found Papa, A Personal Memoir written by
Gregory H. Hemingway, M.D. in back of the monitor

I could clean my office but the life would be sucked out of the
otherwise very empty room

I don’t think I’ll do that. Hell, I haven’t even mentioned what’s in the dry sink.

Personal space is a beautiful thing, if we let it be.

-M. Taggart

 

I like life

I have a few things going on. We’re building a house. I have two jobs. I can’t feel my finger tips on my right hand and I met a very nice human working at a book store in North Conway, New Hampshire, who didn’t know who Hemingway, or Steinbeck was. Also, I have a beer next to me and I’ve just cheers’d it because I’ve agreed to a book signing, and more importantly I’ve finally found a publication worth submitting to, again.

-M. Taggart

Published Work-
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/my-book/

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.

 

 

 

poem – why, are you.

Bukowski just called, told me he didn’t
want to talk and hung up.
Hemingway is in the barroom drinking
whiskey from a half gone bottle, cleaning
a rifle. Not caring who just called.
Vonnegut is on the porch smoking
cigarettes while looking at a dead
raccoon in the road and repeating, “so it goes.”
Steinbeck is petting Charlie in the living
room. Calm. Collected. Ready to go.
Emily is standing silently at the top of the stairs.
Frost is outside beckoning for everyone
to join him. It’s beginning to snow.
I’m sitting alone with my family wondering
who these people think they are.

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018
Thanks for reading

Sweet Thursday – Steinbeck

‘You cannot dissect for emotion,’ Doc went on. ‘If a human body were found by another species and dissected, there would be no possible way of knowing about its emotions or its thoughts.’ John Steinbeck. Sweet Thursday.

I write in my books. I rip corners off pages. It’s been a long while since I read this book. It didn’t take a long while to find one of my favorite lines.

Matt

Steinbeck – Quote

‘There is nothing so monsterous but we can belief if of ourselfs.’  John Steinbeck, The Pastures of Heaven.

From the mind of a child character within this book came this brilliant line. I’m highly fascinated by Steinbeck’s use of incorrect grammar to further the development of the child within the reader. And for me, it’s a reminder to ignore rules.

 

East of Eden – Steinbeck

And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I mist fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost. – John Steinbeck. East of Eden.

I found this to be the most powerful paragraph in the book. Much later in the book he followed this thought up with-

Can you think that whatever made us –would stop trying?

Some writers write to re-read their own words.  Others write humbly then hope and pray another will find them useful. I find Steinbeck’s words most useful and I wish I could shake his hand.