Monday, December 22, 2014

How I Feel About Life Today

I have been going through my writings the last few days. A big thick manila folder, and that's not even counting all the stuff on my blog, or the countless journals I have kept through the years. I'm going to start posting some older stuff and see how it goes. Stuff that has never seen the light of day. I would like to write a book, if I could get my shit together about it. This is a dream I've had for so long, and after talking to a good friend today who was there through most of my adventures, and I told him I'm just trying to figure out what to do with my life right now, he mentioned that I should  write a book about my life and all the crazy relationships I've had and everything I've been through. He said it might help somebody. It's already written in those journals, I just have to find a way to put it together.

How I Feel About Life Today
August 4th, 2008

I see a guy today walking up the street crossing the railroad tracks drinking from a bottle encased in a brown paper bag. He is wearing business casual clothes, not really a bum. The look on his face is not  one of despair, happiness, or agony, it is nothing. It's that look that says, Fuck it, I just gave up...and I'm Ok with that. I pass him while I'm driving and I think, maybe that should be me. Maybe right now I should just ditch my car, buy a bottle in a brown paper bag, and be the non-happy but not unhappy. I forgot this is an option, just not a very good one, and like my Kerouac, lying by the side of the railroad tracks in San Bernardino in the 50's, alone, broke and crying, there is a price to pay for everything.

But, my friend, which breaks you worse? The daily grind of trying to figure out how to pay your bills, put a roof over your head, where your next tank of gas is going to come from, what to do after you loose your job, all the while getting up each day, going through the motions, grabbing your coffee and heading out to work in a world that is not built for the vulnerable? Or, saying fuck it, walking up a busy highway, with a bottle in a daze, leaving it all behind, if only for a while. When Kathy Hilton criticizes John Mc Cain today for his insensitive humor in his recent ad campaign due to "millions of people losing their homes and their jobs," maybe it's time for us all to grab a fucking bottle and paper bag and make our way to the railroad. If the rich start caring that much, you know we're screwed.

~Jenny Miller

Saturday, December 20, 2014

The Actress

Set Scene:
Here we have a dimly lit booth

With chair in a marble setting.

Enter actress, queue spotlight

Upon seat, head down.


The actress in a lesser role.

Starving artist

Starving from the soul.


She forgets her lines

The audience waits in silence

Pensive silence.

She forgets her lines

Not because she is a drunk

This time

But because sometimes

Those with complex minds

Have difficulties

Doing the simplest things.


Behind stage one night

She cries

The director asks what is the matter

She says that in all this time she has

Never so badly wanted a drink

“Why?” he yells

“What would that solve, why do you

Want to drink again?!”

“Because I’m an alcoholic” she screams.


There is no drink that night

Just sullen silence.


She gets into costume the next day

The scene is set again.

Booth, soft lights, marble, fellow actors

And actresses entering

And exiting stage

The audience watching


Yet no one knows, this is not

The play itself

This is not the grand role

She was meant to play

This….is a dress rehearsal

If only the critics understood that

As they give their reviews


No one knows what goes on

Behind the scenes

No one understands

The true character

Of the actress