The year slipped by in the span of a heartbeat, yet, so much has happened.

Two days ago I started this entry. March 14th was the 365th day since posting the first installment of, Tales of the Chronicles and to this second, even after eighty something entries, I still get nervous when I post.

I would have posted this installment on the first year anniversary date, but I was engaged in other matters and believe I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer to complete it.

What a crazy ride it’s been. A roller coaster of experiences. Things I could’ve never believed were possible. New friends. New opportunities. New dialogue. New collaborative ideas. New connections. New networks. Re-connections with old friends.

Finding courage when I was convinced none existed. Taking a peek outside my box, having a look around and saying, “yeah, this is cool. I like it here.” Swimming freely in open ocean, when before, I had barely dared to dip my toes in the water to check the temperature. The mere thought of wading out to my knees caused panic and anxiety.

I made a commitment to myself, one day, to be myself. In order to allow that to happen I had to stop being who I was during those days of the Old Life.

Who I was before, is not a reflection of who I am today. I lived a fake me. I was never myself or the best version of who I wanted to be. I was someone else.

I was someone else, because I believed that’s who I was supposed to be at the time. Boy was I wrong.

I once followed the rules to the letter. Keeping my focus and thoughts trained exclusively on the priorities of life. Once I dug deep enough, I found it mandatory (and possible) to break those rules. Letting the focus wander throughout the aether for a time and eventually redesign my universe in my own image.

If there’s one thing you’ve probably figured out by now, is that I live in a fantasy world. A perpetual dream state. My subconscious guides my journey. It rules my mind, and I allow it to conquer. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve trapped myself willingly in that place between places and I refuse to look for an exit.

Eyebrows have been raised once or twice on occasion because this is classified as, “A blog of autobiographical fiction.”

OK… is it an autobiography, or is it a work of fiction? It’s one or the other.

It’s both. You see, there are multiple facets of my life I cannot openly share. Things I refuse to speak about, unless it’s with my confidants or Nancy. Because I will not “go there,” I’ve had to reconstruct and redesign my life in a manner that suits me exclusively.

I had to bend, break, twist, warp and manipulate my perceived normalcy. Being normal didn’t do it for me anymore. I live in the real world, but exist somewhere else.

It’s so much fun.

The fictional components that make up the Chronicles, are the truth… to me. Coping mechanisms if you will. Therefore, it’s simultaneously a fictional work and an autobiography. Truth wrapped up in the suspension of disbelief. Those who were close to me, when the crap hit the fan, were witness to the external pain. No one was inside my head, and dealt with the internal, but me.

I also enjoy the unique. Peeking outside the box has allowed me to view the world in a way I never could before. In order for me to start a blog and enjoy it, I had to be unique in my own little way.

Hence, multiple layers of the Chronicles and the tales that accompany them, were conceived and born.

On my one year anniversary of this ongoing adventure, I can also admit I’ve learned quite a bit about humility and being humble. Taking pride in what I’ve accomplished even though I don’t feel deserving of it. I never once considered that what I was doing with my redesigned universe could be anything other than a coping device, or a tool for peace of mind. So with that said, I smile as I declare the following.

I’ve written a series of books. My pilot project (Volume One) is undergoing some repairs, some developmental edits and restructuring, and will hopefully be complete within a handful of months. I plan on traveling the route of independent publishing and working hard to bring it to completion. I still have hoops to jump through and plenty to learn, but it’s safe to say, I have never been more excited about anything in my adult life.

I’ve had plenty of help along the way. Sometimes it does take a village to raise a child and to those good Samaritans out there who helped pick me back up when I stumbled and fell, again, I say thank you. Without that help, kind words, persistent encouragement, and ongoing support, I wouldn’t be where I am today and it will never be forgotten.

I still have work ahead of me and lots of it. I’m still laboring through my issues among the process, but today I can say with pride, it’s no longer a matter of if… but when.

If not for Joseph Everett and his dying wife bleeding out on the floor of the refuge, I don’t think I would’ve ever come this far.


I wiped the blood from the blade across her pink bathrobe. She convulsed and twitched and turned her head to her husband who was standing casually at the open door.

Joseph crossed his arms and smiled. “See that wasn’t all that bad. Felt good didn’t it?”

I looked into her glossy eyes and burst into tears. Keeping my attention on the hole in her chest, I screamed into the palm of my hand, “WHY!? Why did you make me do this?”

He strolled towards us and cocked his head to the side, “Because I couldn’t do it myself. You did good. That was only the first step. As a token of my appreciation, you can keep the sword.”

Her crimson life force seeped into the carpet and she struggled to lift her head. I whispered, and attempted a smile, “I’m sorry. If I had known…”

A quivering hand rose from the floor and grabbed the front of my shirt. Before passing onto the next realm, Jessica managed to speak to me through garbled words. “You don’t know what you’ve done.” She pulled me close enough so I could feel her breath on my skin and Joseph dropped to his haunches to observe her final words. “You’ve only made things worse.”

I dropped the blade beside her and whispered, “I don’t understand.”

Turning her focus to the timbers crisscrossing the ceiling above us, she closed her eyes and laughed through the reply. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

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The End of the World

“To feel bereft of purpose is the greatest struggle.

To find personal merit among madness, regardless of outcome, is the greatest accomplishment of all.” JSM

Someone close to me once died a painful death. A violent death. Unnecessary suffering. A death that makes one question why the brain allows such agony.

Such a good person. A tranquil soul with a heart full of love. Someone who gave selflessly and helped others through their time(s) of need. Why was the passing from this realm to the next, so brutal?

I can’t answer my own question(s), though not for a lack of trying. I ponder on it, and then I’m forced to stop. I intermix religion, ancient stories and spirituality, scientific musings and theories, personal research, life lessons, testimonials, mythology, then go off the rails and run circles around my mind, struggling to line up the pieces and connect the dots…

and ultimately run head on into solid walls at warp speed.

Some realms are shrouded in mystery and not all questions can be answered. I suppose that’s where faith comes into play.

Faith isn’t for everyone. I’m fully aware of that.

Despite that, I see life and living as a series of necessary balances. Speculation and truth. Good and evil. Heat and cold. Yin and Yang. Darkness and light. Sun and moon. Time and timeless. Positive and negative. Struggles and triumphs. Happiness and sadness. Elation and pain. The proper balance of nutrients for the body and mind to work at peak optimization. The required time for sleep and rejuvenation. Solid and liquid. Right and wrong. Up and down. Life and death. Earth and sky.

Because I see everything as balanced, and balance is essential to the natural world, death is therefore natural and should somehow have a positive purpose. In some way or fashion.

Without darkness, light will never shine. Without good, evil reigns supreme. Without living, there is no death.

Unfortunately, what happens after death is a mystery to me. But I have to continue to believe that even though I may not know, death still must serve a positive purpose.

Even if it’s just raising awareness. Passing on a story and helping someone else navigate their personal struggles. Allowing a legacy to live on through others. Turning a hard negative into something positive. Somehow, someway.

Finding reasoning where there shouldn’t be.

Forcing clarity from senselessness.

There must be a purpose and balance to everything. Even death. I refuse to believe otherwise.

That’s not the religious upbringing in me coming out. I don’t enjoy discussing religion in an open forum. I do however, enjoy spirituality.

In my opinion, without spirit, there is no purpose. Being bereft of purpose and devoid of spirit is the end of the world as far as I’m concerned. To wander through life not understanding and having an inability to see the truth of self is maddening.

The truth of self isn’t always apparent. The variables are sometimes hidden. At times we have to dig deep to find those buried truths. Sometimes we have to devise and construct our purpose, and create something from nothing to make those ultimate discoveries about ourselves. To mold and form perceptiveness, from all the senselessness.

Keep digging.

Creation of purpose, and the unveiling of personal truth, is an ongoing challenge. I’ll never fully know what my purpose is, but I’ll keep digging and searching until it makes itself known and obvious.

One of my personal core truths I’ve discovered over the last six years among all the endless digging, is patience.

That… and literally everything happens for a reason. Everything.


I had reached the end of my sanity. My ship had sailed right to the end of the world.

At this point in life, I was good at three things. Working my forty hour week, applying a fake smile while in the presence of others, and feeling sorry for myself. My existence didn’t make any sense and I made it obvious to everyone who would listen. Because of the situation at hand and all the negative variables, I felt destined to live a life of hardship and struggling. I foresaw nothing but pain and misery, and misery prefers the company of others more often than not.

I yelled frequently. I spoke unkindly to who I felt deserving of my verbal lashings, and I didn’t hold back. I isolated. I withdrew. I hated. I brought people down into my abyss and forced them to stay. I couldn’t let go of my burden. The balance was off so drastically, I couldn’t see any light.

What comprised my spirit was darkened and dead and swirled around as disembodied specters looking for a way inside. A shadowy mist floating and undulating, mocking and taunting. An icy cold snake slithering around my shoulders whispering words I cared not to hear.

I paced. I allowed the formulation of negativity to ensconce my soul and wrap me up in a cocoon of limitless anger.

I purged all the positive and discarded all potential purpose.

When Joseph met me at the front door of the refuge, he wouldn’t allow me entry right away. I had a task to complete first. A job I didn’t want to do, but my hand was forced.

Before I crossed the threshold, he placed a tool in my grip to get the job done. Instructing me that it would make everything easier and I’d feel better once completed. I didn’t believe him and I hated him for it. What he wanted me to do didn’t make sense, and is the opposite of who I am, but he was adamant.

With tears streaming down my cheeks I approached the center of the room, sword in hand, and killed Jessica Everett.

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“Ice is forming on the tips of my wings. Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything. No navigator to guide my way home. Unladened, empty and turned to stone. A soul in tension that’s learning to fly. Condition grounded but determined to try. Can’t keep my eyes from the circling skies. Tongue-tied and twisted just an earth-bound misfit, I.” Pink Floyd

I’ve forced myself to rest for a spell and have decided to take a break. It won’t be a long break. It never really is. In fact, I’ve been on said break for awhile now, and should be ending the hiatus soon. When I’m idle, I drive myself crazy.

The funny thing about participating in what we love, is the intent to fully immerse ourselves; regardless of how good we are at the activity. Regardless if we’re merely starting out and learning, or locked somewhere in between. If we enjoy it, we engage in it. We’ll never reach a certain level or attain our goals, unless we do it consistently. Practice, commitment, time management, unwavering focus. Allowing it to partially consume us. Doesn’t matter what it is. If we love it, we’ll do it.

I can say with a fair amount of confidence, I’m not truly “good” at anything, or any one thing, or excel at any skill. And I love that about myself. I’ve tried the higher education route, and was fairly adept during those times in attendance. Decent grades. Areas and topics I wished to pursue and subject matter that caught my interests. But was never able to take it to completion (for reasons I can’t discuss here). I found niches I could slide into over the years where I climbed employment ladders and considered myself accomplished at a jobby job and praised for my labor, but outside the work arena, I’ve never considered myself “good” at anything.

I was also never inclined to try during those days of the Old Life. Too many obstacles. Too many walls to break down. Too many distractions. Too much bullshit.

I can say I’m good at specifics. I can navigate a computer fairly easy. I have an immaculate driving record. I listen well to those I consider important to my life and pay attention to those with greater wisdom, knowledge or experience.

I classify myself as a good parent, a decent friend and a loving partner. I have a preparation and survivalist way about me. But as far as skills are concerned… yeah… no.

Quite possibly the greatest thing I have going for me, is knowing I have no skills. Such a freeing mentality. Never locked into a concrete mindset. The focus can branch off, fly and explore without boundaries.

I made a decision, once upon a time, to try and follow in the footsteps of others. I wanted what “they” had. I had radically changed and adapted my thinking to try and transform into someone else, so I too could feel the same way as them. A sense of accomplishment. A sense of completion. Hands reaching for the sky as the finish line is finally crossed.

But the more I paid attention and the more I saw… the less I wanted. It’s one thing to profess accomplishment, smile and take pride in it, but to witness and experience the negativity, sadness, and gloom that’s accompanied with that accomplishment, turned me right off. If we love something, sadness should never be a dominant factor. Ever.

I then decided I will never allow sadness to interfere with what I love doing. I’ve discarded all the jealousy and coveting. I no longer want what others have.

My mind’s eye allowed me to understand one core basic concept. And I only speak for myself. The moment I try to be something I’m not, is the moment I become something that contradicts who I am.

I love who I am. I love what I do.

I can never be like someone else, or other people, because it will change who I am as a person. Unacceptable. All I can do is learn from others and try and make it applicable to my own life, in my own way.

Having a conversation with a close friend last night I made it a point to say, “I was this close to giving up. I almost quit. The weight was too heavy to carry.”

“But I didn’t. If I had quit, I wouldn’t be where I am at this exact moment. And life is about moments. The moments are what we should live for.”

The difference between failure and quitting is permanence. If we fail during our challenges, or experience failure in some fashion we can pick ourselves up, dust off the debris, learn from the experience and move forward hoping to do better. Quitting is permanent. Can’t experience failure once quitting.

They say, “It’s not work if you love what you do.”

I say, “What a load of malarkey.” It’s work. Lots and lots and lots of work.

Busy work. Work that challenges confidence. Demanding and time consuming work. Mind numbing at times.

Because I can’t quit what I love, I’m forced to take breaks. Not as a result of failure, but because my mind requires another reboot. I need to re-change my thinking again. I have more clutter to clear up and more dust to sweep away. Suggestions by others that demand integration. Some breakage in the structure, and cracks discovered in the foundation, that’s now in desperate need of repair and attention.

Can’t make a decent apple pie without a solid crust.

I learned that the hard way.


There it was. My first attempt to get out of my comfort zone and try something new. What a disaster. An epic embarrassment. I was so glad I was alone in the house at the time. I wanted a baked pie, and got exactly what I asked for. Baked beyond recognition. The dream led me to the store, I followed the instructions to the letter, complied all the ingredients needed, and created a monster.

The smoke alarm was the first clue. I dashed into the kitchen and smoke poured from the stove. I ripped open the oven door, yanked the plate from within with two pot holders, and tossed my creation onto the counter top.

A steaming, blackened, bubbling pile of burnt mess. I wouldn’t have fed it to Shelby and that mutt eats anything. The stink was overwhelming, an assault on the senses, and it was a good guess I’d be scrubbing the pie plate for at least an hour with a Brillo Pad to remove the burned edges.

Once it was cooled off and the mess cleaned up, I threw the pie in the trash. No one was seeing that awful concoction. I wouldn’t even venture a taste. I couldn’t in good conscious subject anyone else to it. It had to disappear.

Where did I go wrong? I followed the rules to a tee. It should have appeared just like the pictures. 

What variable did I miss?

The tragic part of being lost in life, is having the inability to see variables. It’s easy to follow a compass or a bright star home, but if the compass leads to the edge of a ravine, or a mighty raging chaotic river, the variables change. Unforeseen anomalies that just create another obstacle. We’re always fighting to tear down the walls, and dodge the overwhelming anomalies, but without the right tools and the correct mindset, the walls never move. The obstacles will always remain.

Luckily the next visit to the refuge with Joseph, provided me with one singular tool. I didn’t want it at first, but it was handed to me with a solemn promise that it would make everything better.

I wish I had believed him right away.

“I drag a heavy hammer. An instrument to break down walls. A weapon to destroy barriers that stretch up to the heavens and to either side as far as the eyes can wander. It’s a burdensome weight to be sure. Calloused and bloodied hands. Sore muscles. Endless fatigue. Yet, without that hammer, those walls would never fall.” JSM

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Heart and Soul

Things have happened recently that make me question my reality. Things that go beyond the realm of what I’ve always considered normal. Moments where I really have to stop and ponder, think it through, and be grateful. Recent paradigm shifting situations that make my eyes open wide, and to be honest, a tear may well to the surface from time to time.

I’m a big boy. I can shed a tear or two if it’s warranted. 😉

I don’t deserve this.

I can’t believe this is happening to me!!

Are those TV shows/networks truly following me on Twitter? No…way… you only have thirty five followers… how is this possible? There must be some kind of mistake.

To quote, the Princess Bride, “Inconceivable!”

My brain has difficulties processing it all sometimes. The beginning of all this, to where I am today. In fact, it’s a little overwhelming at times and I find myself catching my breath as I try to wrap my mind around it. Because I can’t fathom the evolution of what’s occurring around me, I merely smile, and follow the journey’s path regardless and try to push on. I just have to continue as though I’m doing what “I” believe is the right thing for me.

And, with hopes it helps someone or two along the way.

Even as I compose this entry, I shake my head in disbelief and absolute bewilderment.

How is this possible…

So, before I continue, I must take a moment and say, thank you. From the bottom of my heart and soul. From the deepest places within me.

To the casual readers and browsers. The quick material skimmers. The subscribers. My Facebook friends who support me and have supported me since day one. My new Twitter family. Thank you. When I started this adventure, I never in a hundred trillion years could’ve believed it would ever have reached this point. I am humbled and honored beyond words. 🙂

Time is a precious commodity to me and I attempt to use it wisely. I keep to myself with social media. I don’t share much about my personal life and my feelings about things. However, I live inside the Chronicles Project and this is where I do my sharing. I allow my heart and soul to guide me now, and this is where I put it all.

It takes a lot to catch me off guard now-a-days or make me stop dead in my tracks. All I can provide in the moment is a heartfelt thank you, to each and every one of you. All of you make my soul smile.


Joseph Everett was right about one thing. I needed to look beyond the literal. To drop the wall of blatant intentional ignorance I had constructed around me, and see beyond the darkened veil.

Life had been moving so fast in such a brief period of time, by default, I couldn’t see beyond that wall. The veil was so high and thick, the literal was all I could visualize and the only thing in my life that made sense. I had the inability to see anything more than five feet away. I lived within my own bubble.

The next morning, after that visit to the refuge, I sat in my office chair in my small living space and questioned concepts such as synchronicity. Signs and symbols. Things which could be construed as coincidence and happenstance, but also quite possibly have a higher or different meaning.

Dream interpretation(s). Visions. Contemplation of the mystical.

I didn’t act on any of these thoughts. I only sat in my swivel chair, fingers laced behind my head, spinning in one place while staring at the ceiling.

No. Wait! What are you doing?!

I have to know…

Like the clue found in the linen closet, there could possibly be another one. The ball of yarn still had a home resting comfortably on top of my desk’s pencil holder. I knew the answers could be buried deep within the bowels of the internet somewhere, yet I wouldn’t know unless I tried looking for them. Can’t allow a series of dreams to make me go crazy without at least exploring all avenues first. These visits to “Joe’s world,” where I was nothing more than a guest, were growing cumbersome without receiving any concrete answers in return. To completely ignore it all would be careless. At least that’s what I believed at the time.

I dug and searched. I poked, prodded and perused. I turned over some stones and read some stuff. I researched a bit and scrolled through various articles. After about forty five minutes of looking and seeking out those hiding answers, I found myself on one final page.

There it was. As plain as day. The literal answer. The only thing that made any sense to my fractured mind. I reached into my bottom desk drawer and removed a notebook. If my printer didn’t need more ink, I would have just printed all the information out instead.

After copying all the material from the computer screen, I double checked my words, looked it over a couple of times to ensure I had it all correct and everything was legible. I’ve never had the best penmanship, so I really have to reread my hand written words and when all was said and done, I closed the laptop, left the house and fired up the car.

I felt relieved with my decision. My feelings on the interpretation of the events I witnessed the night before. I allowed my heart to guide me to the destination and I didn’t think twice on the matter.

An hour later, and after triple checking my grocery basket, I had all the ingredients needed to make an apple pie.

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The Eleventh Hour

“Tick, tock, tick, tock. Time is a fleeting thing. It can kill the spirit, dull the mind, or help the heart to sing. I can no longer speak about yesterday, or see what tomorrow will bring. All I know for sure, is that one closed door, which could be hiding everything.” JSM

“Well, well, Jeremy. I see you’ve decided to return. What took so long?”

“I had things to do.”

“That’s what they all say. That’s what they all say. Everyone is so, so busy.” Joseph used his one free hand and raised the table back on all fours. “You want some pie?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are. Hunger is what brings you here. Hunger is what brings everyone here.”

“I said I’m not hungry. I want some answers, not food.”

“Answers you seek. Some you may find. Depends on how far you dig into the mind.”

“Listen, Joe,” I crossed my arms high on the chest. “I don’t want Jessica’s food. I don’t want your cryptic rhymes and messages and dance routines around my questions. Just shoot me straight, OK? Can you do that one simple thing for me? I don’t ask for a lot.”

The old man smiled. “First help me clean up a little, then we’ll see if we can find some answers to your questions. Can you give me a hand?”

I picked up large broken lobster shells from the carpet and placed them on a cracked plate along with other crumbs, silverware and debris. The walls of the refuge felt cramped and closed in this time. Less of a wide open area, and more congested. I’ve always had bouts of claustrophobia in my youth and tried my best to ignore the uncomfortable sensations.

Jessica exited the kitchen. The scowl I was accustomed to was smeared across her face and she continued to avoid my eyes. Instead of her silver wheeled cart, she dragged a vacuum cleaner out the door, and the power cord bounced and slid across the floor behind her like a dead orange snake.

She plugged it into the wall, flipped the switch and it was silent. No high whirring hum. No pieces sucking up into the machine. Only Mrs. Everett moving the floor cleaner across the carpet in quick strokes. When she completed the chore, she dragged the vacuum away and returned to the kitchen.

Joe was back to sitting at the table. “Are you going to join me? Or just stand there all day looking like someone killed your dog.”

I found a chair at the head of the long table, placed it across from him and sat down hard. Shelby curled into a ball at my feet. I refused to speak. I wanted something from him, but I couldn’t formulate what that something was. Instead of talking, I sat quiet, my hands folded on the surface of the table.

Joe slid the pie between us and it’s smell watered my mouth. He grabbed a long knife and cut into it’s steaming center, “What most people don’t understand, Jeremy, is without an absolute perfect balance, and the right timing, an apple pie fails across the board in all categories. The crust has to be perfect. The apples cooked to perfection. What happens if the apples are under cooked?”

“The texture’s off. There’s nothing worse than crunchy apples in a baked pie.”

“That’s my thought as well. Though, some are happy with that outcome, and content to eat it anyway. They don’t care about the texture or the flavor. The thickness of the crust or the perfect sweetness. They don’t care if it falls apart or crumbles into pieces on their plate, or it doesn’t maintain its shape. They ignore the warm liquid center oozing and dripping from the middle or the noticeable imperfections. Others however, take their time when making a pie. Over the course of time, trials by fire, struggles and failures, they continue to strive to make it as perfect as possible. Something they can take pride in. The Missus takes great pride in her ability to make it perfect. Look at this beauty.”

I had to admit. The pie was indeed perfect. The crust was designed with weaving lattice work across the top. The filling was solid and smelled delightful. As though Mrs. Everett belonged on her own cooking show.

Joseph continued as he placed a slice on a small plate, “The difference between those who strive to be perfect, and those who don’t, is time and commitment. It takes time to blend, mix, roll, and place a perfect crust. It takes time to cook the ingredients, test the flavors and find the balance. It takes time to slice and dice the apples. It takes time in the oven to bake to perfection. Jessica would say the key to a perfect apple pie, is patience, consistency and time. Time is always the determining factor.”

I leaned over the table and pointed to the old man, “And just what in the hell, does any of this nonsense, have to do with me?”


“Excuse me? I don’t want to bake a pie. I don’t even care about making pies.”

“I understand that.”

“So why even bring it up?”

“Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy. You have the inability to see the bigger picture. I use a pie as a example. Stop being so literal.”

“I can’t help it. When you’ve been through what I’ve been through…”


Leaning back in my chair, a smug smile grew across my lips, “So you’re going to teach me how to make an apple pie. If that be the case, I’ll just show myself out. Thanks, Joe, but no thanks.”

“Wait.” He replied raising his hand as I grabbed Shelby’s leash and made my way to the door. “You can’t leave yet.”

I glanced back to him over my shoulder. “Why is that? It’s apparent I’m not going to get the help I need here. I have to seek it elsewhere.”

“No. You can’t leave. Not until you understand.”

As I reached for the double doors, a magical force bolted them shut and a long wooden timber dropped down from the ceiling to cover the exit. I reached for the handle and tugged with all my strength. I was trapped inside the refuge.

“Sit down!” He commanded.

I returned to my chair.

“I know you don’t want to cook pies and I understand your need to leave. But what it is you don’t understand, is what I’m trying to show you. This pie… is you, and your life.”

I laughed. A belly clutching chuckle that poured tears down my face.

“You may laugh for the moment, but you won’t in a minute.”

I wiped my eyes, “Try me.”

“You lack something.”

I was my turn to be stern, “Now you listen to me, Joseph. I’m lacking in a lot of things and I’ll be the first to admit it. I’m a big boy and can own up to my ineptitude. Have you ever felt safe and secure in life, only to have it ripped away from you against your will? Have you ever built up something from scratch, only to have it torn down and obliterated into powder? Have you ever had your foundations shaken so violently, you can’t distinguish the difference between reality and fantasy? When you hit that point, you let me know, then we can talk.”

Joe stuck his fork into the warm dessert and placed a chunk into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open and mocked me. Crumbs trickled from his lips. “Oh, boo hoo. Jeremy’s been though some crap. Jeremy’s reality was shifted. Jeremy feels lost and hopeless. Join the club, buddy boy. Everyone feels that at one point or another. You think you’re the first to feel betrayed by the world? What makes you so special? Why is your pain greater than that of anyone else? What you do with this crumbling life and those broken foundations is what makes all the difference. You’re still upright and breathing, right? That is your foundation. You are alive.”

“I suppose. But it’s all stagnant, suffocating and abysmal. Life doesn’t make sense. If we’re discussing apple pies, then it’s safe to say, my ingredients are off balance.”

“Ah… now you see it. The ingredients are off balance. In fact, my guess is you haven’t even been shopping for the ingredients yet. You currently lack the components to bake a good apple pie. Or even something edible.”

I paused my rant and relaxed into the seat cushion.

Joseph continued. “You have a foundation from which to rebuild, but it’s made of dirt. You have walls for protection, but they’re thin and lacking strength. You have a roof overhead but it’s leaking and full of holes. You struggle, because you choose to struggle. If you’re unhappy with the situation at hand, you must change it. Only you can take care of you. Before making the perfect pie, you must first have the perfect crust. The foundation from which the rest of the pie is constructed upon. You need to find that balance you seek.”

“I seek what I can’t find.”

“But you must continue to seek it out. Don’t give up. Don’t stop looking. See the forest for the trees. Seek out opportunities among madness. Stop looking for perfection right now. Perfection is never perfect. Seek out ideal instead. What defines ideal for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s the first question to answer. Start small. Look for something else. Stop seeking that which can’t be found.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning. It’s time to go shopping. You have a pie to make.”

When my eyes ripped open from the vivid dream, I threw my blankets off my sweating skin and lurched from the bed. My breathing choppy and erratic. My face was red, my hands shook and when I splashed water in my face and looked into the mirror in the bathroom, I had to stop and stare.

Seek ideal. Stop seeking perfection. Perfection is a pipe dream.

All of this is happening for a reason.

Time to go back to the basics.

It was time to continue the hunt. The hunt for the invisible. The hunt for something, which was trying it’s best to hide from me.

I enjoy puzzles. I like games of all kinds. The one thing I despise, however, is mind games. I was locked into a mind game and the only player was myself. And the clock continued to tick away.

>Thank you for reading and following along. If you happen to be new to my blog, Tales of the Chronicles, here is the link to the beginning. Please subscribe in the provided area to receive a notification of new posts through email. Please give it a like (if you like it), share with others, or leave a comment if you wish. See you at the next one.

Talking to Myself

It’s easy for me to admit now. I don’t relate well to others.(sigh) Some of it’s by design, some by default.

I have varying viewpoints on subject matter that don’t correlate with the standard norms and social conventions. It is indeed a double edged sword.

Over time, I was forced to stop my inner conflict and come to terms with this. As the days continued to drift on by, it became a pill that was easier to swallow. Because I don’t relate well, I see things differently. I experience life and what it has to offer on a different wavelength. And I can’t turn it off.

The down side to this way of life is obvious. It’s an isolationist lifestyle. Conversations with others outside my circle are attempted surface conversations only. I don’t have a large and wide option of friends. The friends I do have, however, are treasured relationships but I can count them all on one hand.

In actuality, I wouldn’t have that any other way. Simplicity and trust is essential to my complex universe.

Additional downsides include sometimes being forced to bite my tongue and keeping my opinions to myself. Watching the experiences of others from a distance or (in regards to social media) reading the experiences and dialogue of others and doing my best to not butt in (and boy have I come across a doozie or two recently). Allowing people to slowly approach but keeping them at arms length.

I’ve had to recreate solid ground to stand upon, so I had something I could stand for. Viewing trust as a reward as opposed to something that’s just given away willy nilly without taking all possible variables into consideration.

Well, Jere. That sounds really, really sad. 

The upside to this life style, outweighs all possible negatives. I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to concern myself with impressing anyone. I can be honest. For instance, I never have to consider the costs, stress and preparation of hosting a dinner party with wine, or mixed drinks, fancy appetizers and matching dinnerware to impress others around me. You come to my place to eat, we listen the 1979 Star Trek the Motion Picture LP, or Led Zeppelin while playing Risk or some dice related table top game, Phase Ten or Chess, eating pizza and chips, or Chinese Food, waiting for the brownies to finish cooking all the while sipping strong coffee. Then, it’s outside to sit on the porch and chat about things.

I can be myself without fear of reprisal or condemnation. I’m not forced to wear a multitude of hats and disguises for varying occasions depending on who I’ll be around, or where I’ll be. I can talk the way I want to talk. I don’t need to blend in, be fake, fight for attention, lie, or ever have to worry about personal hypocrisy. In fact, when I encounter hypocrisy, lairs and fakery, I want nothing more than to lash out and speak my piece.

Yet, I don’t. If someone wishes for me to intervene and speak my mind on their behalf, all they have to do is ask.

I don’t care about people’s personal opinions of me and it’s so freeing. I know who I am. I don’t need verification from outsiders. If someone doesn’t like me, it’s probably because they were force fed some negative bullshit about me, or who I am, and if that be the case I scoff with a resounding Ha!!

Or… perhaps I did give them a true blue reason to speak ill will of me or talk about me in some negative way and if that be true, then it’s something I’ll have to accept. Either way… I don’t care about the negative anymore.

I digress.

In order to accomplish my goals, I’ve had to adopt this way of life. I’ve had to be honest and say no. I’ve had to ignore from time to time. I’ve had to disappoint. To bottom line it all, I’ve had to be true to me. As a wise man once told me, “You, are the only one who will always look out for you. No one else can take care of you, but you.”

Being myself has bitten me in the bum on more than one occasion, but those days are in the past and I no longer dwell. As of this moment, it’s time to focus on the future. At any and all cost. Especially in this day and age.

Living life as a part time hermit is a tricky one. It’s a never ending battle.

“Do I want to do this, that, or the other thing? I know what I have to do. What do I focus on today?”

“OK… let’s find a way to squeeze it all in.”

That’s the most rewarding thing (in my opinion) about calling the shots and being true to myself. Having long periods of time where I’m all alone and devoid of company. I get to do what I want (within reason), when I can, without ever shirking responsibilities. I can find time to manage it all without burning out. I can binge watch a few shows, play a game, chill out with my kiddo, hang out with Nancy, doodle, help others as needed, chat with my buddies, write, work the jobby job and complete my chores and never once feel as though I missed out on anything.

I’ll be honest though… it’s not always easy. Like I said, it’s a huge pill to swallow. I was always afraid of missing out on something.

Being who I am, has always conflicted with what I believed others thought I should be, or what I should be doing with my life. But at some point over the years, I stopped caring about that. At one point along the journey I snapped, had a nice long drawn out conversation with myself and realized I was allowing too many people to live in my head and it was time to clear out the clutter. The only one who belongs in my mind is me.

Talking to myself has saved my sanity on more than one occasion. Luckily, most of my internal dialogue is akin to chatting with a close friend. I know and understand my good friends for the most part and what we discuss, and I know myself, so having these little chats while I’m alone is comfortable.

“Jere, are you sure you’re not just slowly losing your marbles?”

“To be honest, I’ve never been more sure. But thanks for asking.”

I was invited to attend a function not too long ago and early on I was approached by an attendee. I was told outright through small talk with a total stranger, if I didn’t watch a specific news network, on a certain channel, I was crazy and I needed to start watching it. The rest of our uncomfortable conversation was me trying to look impressed and not bored wishing she’d leave me alone and find someone else in the room who might relate to her.

Crazy? Really? If that’s normal I don’t want sanity. I’d prefer to “lose my marbles” as it were.

“Hey! Did you catch the college game the other night?”

“Sorry. I couldn’t even tell you who played (shrug). Thanks for asking though.”

“Wow, you’re really missing out.”

I guess I’ll just have to miss out. No offense.

“Please tell me you watched the music award show last night.”

“Oh, man, sorry. I don’t watch that stuff. I don’t even know who’s popular.”

“Everyone watches it and listens to it.”

Not everyone. 

I was always running into a hurdle I couldn’t jump. Because I don’t relate to a lot of people, I don’t talk a lot. I have to force my mouth to wait a moment as I compose my thoughts before I speak them. Sometimes I have to be strategic with my conversations, especially with people I barely know.

Therefore, I enjoy talking to myself. We hash things out while washing the dishes, or cooking dinner. Shoveling snow or mowing the lawn. I don’t have these conversations out in public. Only within the walls of my home.

Five years ago, I realized Joseph Everett was that other side of me. He was me in a conjured form I still to this day can’t rectify in my mind.

I didn’t know it at the time while interacting with the old man, that it was just me arguing with myself. Figuring it all out took many trips to the “refuge” and many messes. Many situations and multiple events.

A little violence. Another devastating storm. Anger. More food. Sleeping on the ceiling and chopping trees at the end of Joe’s parking lot. Creating a duck on red paper with uncooked macaroni and glue.

Witnessing a raging inferno from afar, the flames licking the ash filled clouds above. The cleaving of continents. Mountains collapsing into the sea and tidal waves racing across the land.

Yeah… Joe’s thinking was pretty far out there. I think I spent a month visiting Mr. and Mrs. Everett. I was never sure with each time, what to expect.

>Thank you for reading and following along. If you happen to be new to my blog, Tales of the Chronicles, here is the link to the beginning. Please subscribe in the provided area to receive a notification of new posts through email. Please give it a like (if you like it), share with others, or leave a comment if you wish. See you at the next one.












Fear of the Unknown

Not only have I written some books of various lengths (currently in editing phases. They’re getting there. You want to talk about a ton of work, commitment, patience and time… holy moly), I’ve also spent a number of years in research as well. Sometimes deep, down the rabbit hole research. Everyday I try to learn something new, or investigate a subject I didn’t know or understand; or something to which I was never exposed.

In my universe, research is essential. Research, to me, is just as important as breathing, eating and sleeping. I need it. It’s required to survive.

Not the research and learning that’s projected through the television. No. I don’t pay attention to any of that. Or reading the first major news article from a popular network that pops up on the social media feed, so I can say I’m informed. Thanks… but I’ll pass.

I’m back to reading books. Old books. Back to the library and the dark corners of the Web. Spending time away from mainstream media. Digging for the roots and the heart of the matter and not being satisfied with what’s shown on the surface. I enjoy origin stories, the mythical, following bread crumbs and delving deep into what most of the population would consider a colossal waste of time and absolutely absurd. I live in it. I thrive on the archaic, mysterious, controversial, conspiratorial, ancient, and the days of early recorded history.

Not an expert by any means. Not even close. Only engaged and interested. I will never profess to be an expert in ANYTHING.

Just the opposite. I feel thankful, blessed, lucky, and I eat humble pie three square meals a day. Research is a part of who I am and what I like.

It’s the ongoing journey which I need in life. I need to educate myself.

Without that time spent in self education, and investigating the topics I desire and feel I need to investigate, I’d go completely insane.

It didn’t happen all at once and over night. The urge to explore was progressive and slow at first. An idea would pop into my mind (from out of nowhere), and as a result, I’d spend days researching it to absolute death or until I had my fill and felt satisfied. Some researching adventures have led me places where I scratch my head. Why did I feel compelled to look into this? What was the catalyst? Why am I invested and interested in this material? Then, unable to answer my own question(s), I’d carry on as though it never happened and move onto the next. A consistent psychological conundrum.

The problem with research (my opinion only), is everyone has differing opinions or levels of expertise. What may sound plausible from one author, is contradicted by another. What might have made sense in one book, is seemingly nullified just as quickly in a different book.

“I’m right and they’re wrong.”

“No, I’m right, and you’re wrong.”

“No, both of you are wrong, I’m right. End of story.”

“None of you are right and everything is speculative and mostly guesswork.”

Some authors are on the same page. Many believe the same thing(s) while declaring themselves experts, which is nice. But because of all the confusion and varying ideas and nothing being absolute and concrete, despite some random scattered similarities, I decided instead to whittle my research down to only working with common denominators. I focused on grand unifiers exclusively and was then able to eliminate the congestion and confusion I was creating for myself.

My research topics are neither here nor there at the moment. I won’t spend any time in the here and now discussing what I’ve studied, or explored, or what truly interests me. I believe my musings today are centered around, fear. For myself, fear is, and was, the ultimate enemy.

Deep inside my brain, was a locked door. I’d peek through the keyhole from time to time, ponder opening the door… then back down, and retreat. I think I was scared of what I’d find.

We all experience that. Determined to look into something, move forward on instinct, question the what if scenario, then run away from it at full speed because we’re so content with our life and the way things are. “I don’t want anything to jeopardize my current thinking, or come across a wedge that becomes a hindrance to my way of life.”

I was scared to death to follow my subconscious urges because I knew it was about to take me to something. Although I didn’t know what that was. All I knew, is it was something. I was terrified to go beyond what’s perceived as normal and tear down a wall I constructed around my mind and heart. A tall, thick barrier mostly built from a need for immediate protection.

My gut would say, “You need to look into this, for some reason,” and my mind generated an argument instead.

Why? Why go there? What will you possibly gain from it? Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Close up the laptop, crash in the bed, zone back out to the programming and re-read that sci-fi magazine you like so much. Tomorrow’s a brand new day. You’re thinking crazy thoughts, you fool.

I’d fight the urges and give in to the fear. I didn’t want to explore and waste my precious valuable time. I didn’t want to go beyond my current level of knowledge. I was so Hell bent on surviving life, I couldn’t consider anything else. I just needed to make it through the day and sleep the night as best I could, while battling away the nightmares and vivid dreams that didn’t make any sense.

Then start it all over again.

What possible good will come from breaking that routine? I have to work full time. Have to abide by the schedule. Have to maintain normalcy. Have to stay structured and robotic. Have to keep my dignity. Have to prove something.

Hold on… what do you have to prove? Think about it for a moment. What could possibly be holding you back from perusing something that interests you? What are you actually afraid of?

Your interests are moot right now. What you want is irrelevant. What you need is paramount. You need to be afraid of what you want and desire.

I believed at the time maintaining what I currently had took precedence over anything else. I was walking on eggshells, sprinkled across thin ice, surrounded by twitchy landmines, tip toeing through my fragile paradigm as though my life depended on it, and deviating from that in any way—could cause a schism and possibly destroy everything I’ve retained. Fear was in control.

I fought the fear left and right, tooth and nail. I came to conclusions which told me I needed to live life, as it was designed around me. Since everything happens for a reason, the transpiring events are what I needed to embrace and nothing else. This is how life is supposed to be, despite the conflicting thoughts on the matter.

Stay inside your box and stop thinking outside it. This is where you’re safe. Maintain the wall around you, and you can’t get hurt.

That lasted about a month. A month of internal dispute. Thirty days of second guessing and overwhelming confidence issues. A month of shutting down. A never ending avalanche of negative energy. I couldn’t figure out my feelings and my desperate need to go outside the box, so within it I remained. Better to be safe than sorry.

I had become adjusted to the battle, fighting not only external forces but forces deep inside, and the end result of all that warfare was the essence of “self” continuing to slip away.

I feared myself. I was scared to death.

Have you ever had a fear you felt couldn’t be conquered? It’s debilitating isn’t it? Mind numbing. Fear has the ability to shatter everything and morph the psyche into a vessel for madness, confusion and terror.

My terror was hashed out in the dream world. The waking world made no sense to me. My feelings, emotions and thoughts were in constant battle with my mind and spirit, and the only way I could process it all, was by experiencing the situations conjured up in the realm of dreams. My conscious mind was smothered. My subconscious took control when it was demanded. And for some strange reason, it all centered and originated from something that was trapped in the box beside me.

The dreams slowly opened the cryptic door I had kept sealed for so long. Although, before I allowed it to swing wide, at the time I was devoid of a key.

Joseph Everett was the keeper of that key, but I didn’t know it. He kept it hidden from me and the next time we met, boy oh boy was I pissed off. I could have ripped that cocky old man’s head clean from his shoulders.


The church-like building was surrounded by the thick woods of central Maine and could be found located far off the beaten path, away from all main roads, out in the middle of nowhere. I reentered Joe’s “refuge” and stormed into the wide open room as if I owned the place. I could smell the lobster right away as I shoved open the double doors, and a hint of cinnamon lingered in the background. The mean old woman baked another apple pie.

Keeping her back to me, Jessica entered the kitchen and dragged her wheeled cart along behind her. I’d only see her for that one brief moment. That was okay and more than acceptable as far as I was concerned.

Shelby walked beside me as I approached Joe’s table at the far end of the room. The broken glass had been replaced and new quotes were etched on each individual window in black lettering, but this time I couldn’t make them out. The words were fuzzy and seemed as if they were made of crackling black static.

Joe sat at the center of the table, wearing a red shirt emblazoned with the Star Trek insignia over his heart, and beside his mug of tea sat a plate full of lobster debris. A thin napkin dangled from his collar and the white material was stained with streaks of melted butter.

He placed the tip of a knife into the warm center of the freshly made dessert, and pulled the blade through the middle. His eyes opened wide as I grabbed the edge of the heavy table and grunting against it’s weight flipped it upside down with every bit of pent up rage I could muster.

With cat like reflexes, he snatched the pie from the surface, stood up as though his seat was on fire, and held it over his head as we both watched the table’s contents crash to the carpet. Shelby barked once, I stuffed both my hands in my pockets and all the old bastard could muster was, “Well. It’s good to see you too.”

>Thank you for reading and following along. If you happen to be new to my blog, Tales of the Chronicles, here is the link to the beginning. Please subscribe in the provided area to receive a notification of new posts through email. Please give it a like (if you like it), share with others, or leave a comment if you wish. See you at the next one.

Light Story Entrance Pattern Riddle Fear Lamp

Ax to Grind

“Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.”

Carl Sandburg

“The air is crisp. Autumn’s coming. The colors of dying leaves. The four winds blow to each and every corner. In my ear, they’re whispering. A devil before me. The demon behind. I’m circled by the angel’s wings. The past is dark. A future darker. Tired of everything.

Back to sleep.

Tired of limbo, tired of sleeping, tired of a tired mind. Tired of trying. So unsatisfying. Tired of the uphill climb. Yet in the background stirring, a hint of madness, the thing that’s sought to find. To break up the dreary, and bring life to the weary, seek a new ax to grind.

Time to fight.

Complacency easy. Once content with a old dream. Dying for the thing that hides. The illusion’s a veil. Dark shadows prevail, while screaming from the mountainside.

The battle is won. Life is the spoils. Yet the war is so hard to fight. Take up the blade. Swing with the fury. Transform the dark to light. Merciful morning, please grace me your presence, help me combat through the night. The wicked oppression. Depressive obsession. Agony’s delight.

And know in your heart, within those deepest parts, there must be better days. Look to the skies and all that’s despised, then see through the cloudy haze. 

Just a phase.

Look in the mirror, the image much clearer, time again to change the mind. Let the soul go to flight. Bury the pride. Find some new ax to grind. Though some paths lead to nowhere, more dead ends and despair, and some paths too hard to find. With the blade in my hand, I can reclaim my stand. Consciousness redesigned.

Though unrefined.”


>>Thank you for reading and following along. If you happen to be new to my blog, Tales of the Chronicles, here is the link to the beginning. Please subscribe in the provided area to receive a notification of new posts through email. Please give it a like (if you like it), share with others, or leave a comment if you wish. See you at the next one.



“Fear can be controlled. To live in fear, is to be out of control.” JSM

When I first began this journey of self discovery, I had no clue where it would take me, what I’d find along the way, or where it might eventually lead. To this day, I still don’t know where it’s going and I’m more than fine with that. I can’t believe in destiny or fate. Nothing is ever written in stone. I can’t foresee the future nor will I attempt to try. All I have to work with is the present, and because of this fact, I soldier on and continue the journey regardless of where it may possibly go.

My life philosophies are mine and mine alone and as far as I’m concerned, easy: Do the right thing. Mind my own business. Be there for those who have been there for me. Listen to those I respect. Respect opinions. Do good towards others and perhaps good will come back full circle. Try to project a positive attitude. Ignore the hate and seek the light. You know… all that mushy gushy stuff. That karma stuff. Despite the horrors of the world and humanity’s hate, I try to abide by a decent moral code of conduct, and thus far, it’s seemed to work well in my favor; albeit in increments and spurts. If nothing else, it’s made the journey easier to travel. I’ve had my moments aplenty of lashing out at the beginning, but over time, my inner light seemed to push away the dark. I’d like to think through adapting these seemingly simple personal philosophies, the positive events happening around my universe today are a direct result of my actions.

I was consumed with spite and malice at the genesis of the New Life. I couldn’t see beyond the darkness behind my own eyelids. Each and every waking moment was a new struggle to find something that resembled normalcy.

Nothing was normal and my life had been a lie. Everything was askew and off balance and I hated everyone and everything around me. Well… almost everything and everyone.

Everyone but my kids, my immediate family, the mutt, and the few friends I knew I could count on. That was it. The rest of the world could rot in the abyss for all I cared.

I despised those who managed to find fortune and glory by barely lifting a finger. I hated others I knew who attained success by trampling on the backs of others. I screamed in my mind at those who found life easy. I loathed the ones who hurt me and laughed about my pain like cackling witches circled around a steaming cauldron. I lived in a shroud of darkness.

I may not be perfect, far from it, I’ll never claim to be, but I’ve always considered myself one of the good guys. I hated the transformation from good to evil. The feelings of unfairness and the reasons why bad things always seem to happen to the good ones. Why? It doesn’t make sense!! Why are the decent folks always punished?!


Too many why’s. Always more questions than answers. The answers were always there, but I was oblivious to the clues, and at the time the path was so splintered I couldn’t see the right trail to follow. Therefore, in the darkness I remained. I had no choice at the time. I had to undergo incredible pain in order to eventually understand my situation.

Sometimes pain is a bittersweet reality.

My pain has always been self induced. I’ll admit that. I’d place a flashing neon sign in front of me and advertise “plenty of vacancy” for the ones I despised, for the sole purpose of allowing them to live rent free in my head so I could dwell and fester in their presence. I enjoyed placing blame on others to distract myself, from myself. However, it was the lack of control of my emotions that pushed me over the edge. I couldn’t control the situation, therefore my hate took precedence. I hated what I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand anything, therefore out came the hate.

When my hate had reached a point of no return, family reared back on the reigns and provided safe harbor. My mind was broken. My spirit seemingly shattered beyond repair. Life seemed pointless and the burden too heavy too carry. I tried for the longest time to lift it, but found myself falling to my knees, gasping for air under the crushing weight.

Unbeknownst to me, my family had gone behind my back and set me up with a place to reside, until the day came when I could manage life on my own. I had a small space to set up shop. Both of my children had a bed to sleep upon, and my family went out of their way to transform their home into a place to accommodate me and my broken life. They rearranged their entire existence for mine. To this day, there is nothing I can do to repay that debt. Nothing.

In essence… they probably saved my sanity and my life.

We don’t talk about those days. Those moments are unspoken between us.

The kids still attended their schools, though the drive was much further than I was accustomed. My family worked their forty hour grind, and I still worked from home. Despite having a place to hang my hat for the time, I was alone each and every day until the late afternoon and evening hours. Associating with others was still very much a problem, so I continued to abide by a hermit mentality.

When not actively working at my desk for my jobby job, I found my mind wandering aimlessly and staring blankly at the white walls. I still had more questions than answers.I had no clue how I was going to adapt to the new paradigm or where I was heading. Life still didn’t make an ounce of sense. Just another brand new prison for my fractured mind. Island 2.0.

I needed a clue. A subtle hint. Something from somewhere that didn’t exist primarily in the dream world. Something tangible and real. Any clue would help.

Little did I know, the clue was literal.

I rose from my bed one night after spending too much valuable time sprawled out on the blankets, thinking about the past, and the closet in the corner beckoned me to root around inside. The only area in the home I hadn’t yet explored. I flicked on the light, dropped to my knees and sifted through the contents of the small space.

Stacks of fantasy books covered the floor. Board games piled up on shelves. Piles of linens and folded laundry. Shirts and skirts dangled from metal hangers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Another waste of time. Nothing more than a closet.

Before I rose from the carpet and slammed the door in anger, a beige wicker basket popped into view, tucked away in the corner concealed behind a clothing hamper. A metal clasp held the box’s lid shut and one handle protruded from it’s sides. It had the uncanny appearance of a picnic basket.

I opened it and glimpsed inside.

A sewing kit sat within. Varieties and sizes of needles and multicolored thread. Small handmade dolls, animals, a pin cushion and random stitchings of fabric. Parts and pieces of old projects never finished. Two blue crochet needles and a thick ball of yarn.

I removed the tightly wound ball of yarn from it’s home and bounced it in my hand.

OK… brief pause. Unfortunately a public disclaimer needs issuance from time to time. My friends, co-workers and family consider me quite sane. I’m your average, ordinary, everyday run-of-the-mill, Joe. I have great honest relationships. I have a job that allows me an opportunity to do good by others and work with those who need help in life. I make a livable wage and am irresponsible with my money. My employment allows me opportunities to be active in my community. My children love me and we have the best relationships(s) with one another, and a woman in my life that has stuck by my side through thick and thin. I like to believe I am as sane as they come. But… regardless, I have to dredge up an old statement. A public declaration. I am not crazy.

The things that have happened over time, the subtle, to straight up madness, have been crazy. A sane guy experiencing the insane, bizarre and unexplained. Bring it on. I love the realm of the unknown. The space of the place between places.

Or, perhaps, I am a little crazy.


But, I like who I am and don’t plan on changing anytime soon, so I suppose it’s acceptable.

The ball of yarn struck a nerve. Something about it didn’t make sense. I didn’t sew. I don’t crochet or have any involvement other than a random button I’ve reattached to a pair of pants or two. I did my stint in Home Economics in High School and had to construct a silly project or three… but I did not sew or practice the art. Nor did I care to learn or give it a try.

The object in my grip fascinated me to no end. I held it as I sat at the foot of my bed and rolled it around in my hands over and over again. Staring at it. Wondering on another, why? Why is this so important right now?

If you remember Close Encounters of the Third Kind, I immediately thought on Richard Dreyfuss.

Both funny and strange simultaneously.

Then out of the blue, I remembered something from the days on the Island. Something I happened across during my little side hobby which I titled at the time, Online Archeology. A snippet of research that happened across my screen one night.

I spent some time during those days researching the ocean, and the provided links eventually led me to sailing vessels. I wanted to learn about pirate ships and the materials used during their construction. No reason at the time for wanting to pursue this knowledge. Just something to do other than staring at the TV and another DVD movie.

As I browsed the information, my mind snapped photos of sections and pages in my online travels.

Sailors, in order to control and hoist the sails of the ships, pulled ropes through a metal hook which was named, a clew. That wasn’t the information I was looking for though. It was the snapshot of words further down the page I happened to scroll on by at the time.

A ball of thread is also called, a clew.

In Greek mythology, Theseus from Athens was given a clew by Ariadne, so he could properly navigate out of the Labyrinth. A labyrinth so confusing, it’s designer and builder was almost trapped inside. The clew allowed Theseus to destroy the Minotaur and escape the labyrinthine prison by following the anchored string back out the door.

Through the evolution of words, and around the 16th century the word became, clue.

Today, a clue is not only considered a fragment of evidence, like something a police officer uses to follow potential leads, but it’s also correlated with an object that leads someone out a trap, or leads a person to a solution. Something to help solve a mystery.

I found my first clue. Eyes wide and jaw dropped, I tossed the clue on my desk and opened the laptop. It was time to dive a bit deeper and pursue further exploration.

I’m not quite certain where the clues will take me, but almost six years have gone by, and I continue to follow.

>>Thank you for reading and following along. If you happen to be new to my blog, Tales of the Chronicles, here is the link to the beginning. Please subscribe in the provided area to receive a notification of new posts through email. Please give it a like (if you like it), share with others, or leave a comment if you wish. See you at the next one.



Murder of Crows



“Harbingers. Winged messengers. I witness a murder of crows. From ancient lore and lands cross the sea, they know what eternity holds. From the fringes of these broken dreams I watch as it all unfolds. A brand new me, new sights to see, a new visage to behold.

Guardians of omens, light or dark, a symphony of wings. Then stoic silence, the gathering, to reveal what the future brings.

I bask in the light of crepuscular rays breaking through the quiet dawn. A brand new day, a brand new place, a brand new unsung song. Anger is tempting, vengeance alluring, find balance between right and wrong. To resist is the task, time to tear off the mask, step forth from a life withdrawn.

Entering the Murder’s realm, hands up, declaring surrender. They take a step back, poised to attack, regarding me as an offender. A thousand eyes cut through my mind, they see me as a pretender. My bloodshot stare returns their gaze, while I revel in their splendor.

“I mean no harm, I only wish to know, that which I don’t understand. I’m not anything more than a simpleton. A decent common man.”

“Go back to sleep, delve in deep, and come up with a plan. To master self and seek the truth, is what you wish to conquer and command. Soar new heights, re-scan the land, open up and then expand. Once that’s through, find another you, only then will you understand.”

At four am, eyes fluttering, I wake up from my sleep. I scoured the mind, bode my time, searched high, and burrowed deep. The Messengers opened up a door and visited while asleep. A tear hit the floor, but nothing more, couldn’t bring myself to weep.

While a serpent sits upon a throne of lies and sings it’s venomous song, I now feel free, a new destiny, chin up, and feeling strong. The road is a rocky, hole strewn stretch, and the journey seems so long. But it’s mine to walk, and I must take stock, of what was mine all along.

I approach my window, glance outside, search high and to the grass below. No one knows what the future brings or which direction the path will go. All I know while questioning, almost everything I know. The future me, will now look to the trees, and seek out a Murder of Crows.” JSM

>>Thank you for reading and following along. If you happen to be new to my blog, Tales of the Chronicles, here is the link to the beginning. Please subscribe in the provided area to receive a notification of new posts through email. Please give it a like if you like it, share with others, or leave a comment if you wish. See you at the next one.

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