02012016
There is a life after this one. There is a place for me when it's all done.
My reward is to please my god. To honor my home where the infidels have invaded.
My name is Mujaba. I am eleven years old and I am to meet with a very important man today. Three other boys and I have been chosen from my apartment building to have dinner.
I haven't eaten anything big in a great while and the man has promised a feast that would feed my whole family.
Food hasn't been the same since the war started here in Kabul, Afghanistan.
Little has been the same since the infidels came.
We begin to walk into this building. The outside of it is three levels high and colored khaki brown just lighter than the surrounding area. It's a dusty city.
You can see that the building has been painted many time as you go through the first door way. The paint has been chipped away by many bumpings and slidings of people and things that have come through these very doors. We cannot see through any of the windows because they are either covered from being broken or they have curtains.
We are directed up the stairs and we climb them steadily. I run my fingers on the scratches on the wall. As though it had been fingernails that scratched them there in the first place. As we quicken to the top of the second level, it seems to have become darker. We make a left and start to climb to the next level.
At the top of the next level there are men with guns and one was on the fourth step up.
His gun looked different from the others. It had a long looking glass and it was longer than everyone else's. He was pointing it out the window and didn't seem bothered that we were there.
The window sill was dusty and painted green. I looked to see what he was looking at but was ushered along as we came through a doorway.
The room we entered had strings of beads hanging in the doorway. The light shines through them causing little rainbows to light up the hallway behind us. I didn't notice it till then.
There were pillows around a short round table. And we all had a place where we were directed to sit. I could smell lamb and curry. And I knew that there was to be lots of rice.
I love rice.
They served us tea.
As we were drinking it, they were talking to us about Allah. I don't know much about Allah. And the more tea I drink, the thirstier I get.
I drink more.
The man keeps talking to us. And it seems his face begins to blur a little. And the room feels dizzy.
I'm hungry. They said there would be food. When are they going to bring the food?
Allah this and Allah that. And our destiny has come to meet us. And the descriptions of heaven. And all that is awaiting us there. And the face of this man begins to change a little more with every word.
I am so hungry. I can smell the curry. I can smell the heated meat. And my belly is turning on itself.
I drink more tea.
The man keeps talking.
This place feels safe. And then they bring us what is promised. I can feel the smile form in my very numb cheeks. And everything feels so blissful.
For the first time in my life I have a purpose. I have a reason.
I'm eating now.
It is good. I know this. But not better than my mothers.
But it is good. Hunger is the best sauce.
I am given more tea. And there is much more talking. My eyes begin to wander like my mind.
I'm looking around the room. With three door ways and two windows. It is a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky. I'm thinking of a swing.
Being pushed by my mother on it. I wonder if the infidels know what they did to my life. Do they even know my mothers name?
They took her from me.
The curtains are light and pink and they blow movement in the breeze of a nearby window. I would do anything to avenge my mothers death.
We are given a mission. We are to kill the infidel. For our nation. For our fallen family. For our freedom and to find our heaven. A place where we can see our dead. To be with our families.
I turn to the man speaking as he walks over to me. Speaking angrily. He wants me to pay attention.
I want to make the infidels pay.
They clothed me with the finest linens I have ever worn before. They are heavier than I'm used to. I look in the mirror to see myself for a moment. It doesn't even look like me. I have never been more handsome.
I am given instructions to go with my new friends and do as they say. As long as I do I will please Allah. Allah will be delighted with our obedience.
And then they give me a short stick that I can hold in my palm.
"When you are given the signal, push this button."
We all are ushered back the way we came and lead down into the street.
They put us in a van and take us to many different places. Each one of us is dropped off with a chaperone. My chaperone doesn't like me very much.
She keeps glaring at me telling me to pay attention.
But I'm taking in all the new sites. I've never left far from my home. My uncle hates it when I am gone too long. He tells me it's very dangerous in our land right now. That you never know who is your friend and who is your enemy.
Who is lying to your face and who has bad intentions that look good.
A boy my age, it's even harder. I am not mature enough he says. I am easy to confuse.
Well I'm looking pretty good today. I'm with people who are taking me places he never took me. I'm seeing things he never showed me. All he knows is work.
Working hard is how you stay out of trouble he says.
It's how we eat he says. It's how we stay safe when we sleep he says.
He doesn't have a car. And I'm in a van. It has a radio. It has the coldest air I have ever felt. And I can not even hear anything outside. Can you imagine?
Music in the car. The very best I've heard in a long time.
Maybe my uncle doesn't know any good people. Maybe he is not as wise as he thinks he is.
We pull up to a curb where she grabs my arm and yanks me out of the van.
I was quite comfortable in my seat. Listening to the music and enjoying the coldest air my skin has ever felt before.
But it was back to the dry hot sun and walking the busy city streets of Kabul. People were going to and from where ever. I was being dragged by hand and pulled like a step child through the streets without much notice by these people.
We are passing people carting baskets of clothes or food. Passing people living out their lives without notice.
There are infidels passing through us with yellow sunglasses and dessert camo and their fancy rifles. Fully loaded back backs. Laughing and joking in the streets as though they are not fazed by the things going on around them.
We come past a few more buildings and turn a corner. We pass an older lady who then takes my hand and walks me down the street further.
We stop at a bench. She tells me to sit there and to not move. And we sit on the bench for many minutes.
My eyes begin to wander again. Along with my mind. I look up at the building across the street. It's very big. It has a gate surrounding it. The gate is iron and attached to block. It is impossible for me climb for sure.
I look up and see a little movement in a window and there is a little boy, younger than I, looking back down at me. I wonder what it's like in his home.
Does he have both parents? Does he have his grandmother? I wonder if that is his bedroom? Does he have the finest toys a boy could ask for? I wonder if there are paintings that he painted himself.
I wonder if saw me the same way? If he thought this lady was my grandmother.
She was angrily glaring at me again. This time grunting to me to give her something and telling me to pay attention. She was wanting that button stick. And she wanted me to give it to her now.
I look at her as she is wild eyeing me.
At first, I didn't understand.
She took it from my hand and grumbled at me. I didn't understand why everyone seemed so unhappy with me. I looked back up to the window and no one was there.
There were two doors that opened behind the gate and in the door way came some people.
They were coming down the walk towards a few bigger cars and the lady next to me grabbed my arm. She was looking at the ground ahead of us. I looked to the ground too. As if that was the thing to do.
They were getting into the cars.
The lady whispers directly in my ear.
"Go to them."
I look at her confused.
And she gives me direction with her eyes to go to them. Over there. Now! She says it all with her eyes.
"Go ask them for food."
I feel nervous. I'm hot.
I look to the window.
I look to the sky above me. And there is a bird. It circles above. It waits for its prey. Being blown by the warm wind over head, it makes its rounds.
Full circles above us all. Watching over us. It grieves for no one. It circles.
Her eyebrows are furious with me. I get up and begin to wander over and she pushes me off the curb. Into the street. She points for me to get closer to the cars.
She makes a hand motion for me to hurry. Her hands are dry and her nails are chipped and jagged. Her knuckles looked almost arthritic, all knobby with the lines that say she worked hard a good portion of her life with her hands.
I get to the middle of the street and look back to her and she is already to her feet. Walking away. I stop where I stand and look over to the cars and look back to the lady and I see her hand raise with the button stick.
Her thumb on the button.
She turns the corner, and I look to the sky.
All I remember is fire. Lots of fire.

Authors note.
Children in Afghanistan are used as suicide bombers more than adults because they are uneducated and know very little about the Quran. They are gullible and believe that they are difference makers.
This may be a little fiction that I made up, but it is a reality that happens on the daily in war torn Afghanistan.
Thanks for reading my fiction. Good night.

02022016
  I do my best to stay motivated. I do my damndest to put my heart into everything that my hands touch.
  And even though I have proven to show up. Suit up and present myself on the daily...
   I'm just not into it.
   I've had to push my way through the day. I keep at what's going in front of me and I'm talking me into my task at hand while watching myself, not really being me.
   If this hasn't happened to you at least once, just quit reading now.
   Push the bottom of the screen and tap the ⬅️ right at the top left and check in tomorrow.
   My eyes are heavy. Red and dry. I keep rubbing them and all I wish to do is close them.
   The news here isn't very helpful. A hit and run as well as the rodeo have made the news. WhooHooo.
   I'm worn. I'm feeling the coming days already coming in. And I know my lazy days are nearly over. It will be picking up her very soon.
   My neck is creasing my under chin and my chin is resting on my chest. Folded on itself causing heat and uncomfortableness.
   Just another reason for me to think about writing a diet book. I'm getting round and irritable.
   Angry and fat.
   I'm not writing my best tonight. I didn't have a great day. And I am not feeling the need to write motivational devotion tonight.
    I have no good words.
   Maybe I will work on it.
   Good night.

02032016
So this is what going mad feels like.
Fear.
What are you afraid of?
Are you afraid of what people think? Are you afraid of what they will say about you? Are you afraid of their words? Their thoughts?
Are they so important?
We go through our lives doing what we do and always wondering if it's right. Did I do the right thing? Did I say the right stuff? Did I make the right decision? Did I?
Maybe you're afraid of the competition. Maybe you cannot compete. They're all sitting in a room laughing about your skills. Talking about how you won't amount. Taking time out of their day to laugh about you.
You walk in to a new job, and you look at everyone with their collard shirts and their busy fingers looking at you as they type away. Are they taking you seriously?
As if you are qualified to work with them. As if you're going to have what it takes.
They look at you with irritated glares as if you were going to be welcomed.
Or perhaps you have made a suggestion about something. It isn't taken with welcome arms. So, you're afraid to make another one.
Maybe you live a life of maybe. Maybe you live a life of what ifs. Should haves. Could haves.
You go through life listening to your inner thoughts and killing any chance of self worth you ever had.
Your fear has you in an unhealthy spot and you cure or mask it with stupid anger. The only thing that masks these fears is some dumb rage.
People do not approach angry people. Intimidation is the game.
In truth, we need people.
My biggest fear in life are people.
How do they take me seriously? Do they? Do they take time talking about how bad I am at my job? Do they snicker when I make suggestions?
These stupid thoughts pour into my mind every time I meet someone.
I'm like, I just drew that tattoo like it was nothing to me. How could you possibly want something I pushed out of my hand.
Taken seriously?
I'm like how do you trust that I will do this better than this sketch?
How do I work with such talented people who do the same as I everyday constantly working at being better at what they do and keep that smile on my face trying to work through my day facing the fear they can see right through me.
As though I'm invisible.
As though my facade of intimidation was false all along.
Truthfully, I know there is a balance.
I must face my fear of what they all think. I must face it daily.
I must take myself seriously.
I can not go through every day freaking out over stupid stuff like loose hair on the floor or dirty pennies. I can't keep on going through life caring about wether I made a good decision or balancing the fence on wether or not the grass is greener here or there.
I have to believe that half of the crap renting space in my head is bullshit.
What can anyone say about me?
I'm fat? I'm old?
I'm a guy who's been living on tattoos for nearly twenty years! Why wouldn't I be old? Why wouldn't I be fat? Tattoo has been good for me an my family.
I was doing tattoos when half of these chumps were having wet dreams about doing what I've been doing.
What? That I've been outdated? Seriously?
You cannot update a personality.
My life is riddled with questions of my fate but I will not be meeting it today.
Maybe you're struggling with these thoughts in your life. Fuck 'em.
You don't need anything you're thinking about yourself.
We work through them.
Powerful are our thoughts man. We have to set upon our journey with vigilant vigor. We can not worry our way through life trying to predict the thoughts of others. We have no control over their perceptions of us.
May you have a better day than I.
Laters.
 
02042016
  The year was 1994. It's all a little blurry to me but I remember parts of it clear as day. Other parts, not so much.
   I promised untold stories.
   Not all of them were beautiful.
  It was a foggy day, the day he was born. I remember sitting in a smoking gazebo outside of the hospital. It was a cold wet place.
    The fog was dense.
   The trees were dripping from the water catching to it from the air.
   And honestly, I was up to no good.
   I stayed outside for the most part of your birth. Today is your birthday and every year, I think about you the most on this day.
   There were a lot of factors as to why I stayed outside.
   I was 19. Living on the streets and I don't believe the rest is a secret. Looking back now I can see why I wasn't exactly welcome.
   I was a dumb kid.
   Your mom and I weren't exactly being nice to each other and I had a 28 year old girlfriend who gave me plenty of reasons to see things her way.
   I blame nobody but myself. I was easily influenced back then. I promise those days are over.
    Back then, I was so submissive.
   I had no idea how precious a new life is. I had no variable of time. I couldn't have had the tools that would have been good in the making of the man you are today.
   I have beaten myself into oblivion over my actions that day.
   I was shameful.
   From what I can see today, you are all the things I seemed to think that you would be.
   You believe in honor. You have respect. And you're a dreamer and that is a good thing. You can escape into a book. A thinker. An intellectual. A philosopher.
  Your strong. More flexible than you look at first with the stamina of stallion.
  You are loyal to your dad with good reason. I would expect nothing less of you. He was there for you.
    I have no idea what your life was like. I can only imagine, honestly. On this subject, I care not to write here.
    I remember what it was like to grow up without my father. And what it was like to not have a dad. I know what it's like to feel awkward and not knowing where you really come from. I know what it's like and yet I went so many years letting time go by.
    Caught up in a messy life living out the same scenario with different people many times over.
  Until now. Finally getting it together.
   I don't know what it's like for you now. My father never exerted himself in any way like this to reach me. No phone calls. No instant messages.
   And even with technology as it is, never attempted to make any amends. Not that I see it going well for him either.
   Maybe he is smarter than I. Knowing when to cut his losses.
    Maybe he doesn't like to feel bad or perhaps he feels nothing about leaving us so far behind.
   I've asked him. He never has the answer I find sufficient. The one that makes it easy for me to understand.
   Your Dad, took on the responsibility that I was too afraid of when I was a punk ass kid. Street scum. Drug addicted homeless kid.
   I was couch surfing for years back then.  I totally understand why they thought I was trouble.
   If I would have stayed there. I would have been caught up in the circles of jails and prisons. I might have died from my addiction. I had to go. There was no other possible positive direction for me there.
     Your Dad took on the responsibility that I so easily walked away from and honestly did a way better job with you. I never could have at that time. Roger Rocks.
   I could never be more thankful. Grateful. I could not respect someone more for what he has taken on for you.
    Happy Birthday man.
   You don't know any of us over here. But we are all wishing you well as a family over here.
     I only wish we were closer and I'm making a daily effort to making it so. One day you may cross these pages. I hope these words don't cause any setbacks. I hope when you find them, that you're in the right mindset to know I'm not trying to be offensive. That the words are true.
   Much respect to you on this fine day.

02052015
He walked into the shop with a puffy chest and I knew for sure that this was the guy I wanted to talk to.
Arms swaying back and forth as he moseyed up to the front counter. He had a bravado about him. A certain confidence, I can easily pick out of a person.
First I looked at his shoes.
Not too dressy. Some casual leather Sketchers and some flashy jeans. When I say flashy, I'm talking about the kind with fancy embroidered pockets and little studs. The big white patch above the right back pocket that says, I bought these jeans for a weeks worth of your lunches.
They were hanging just low enough so you could see the under armor logo of his underwear.
He wasn't a body builder by any means but he was physically fit. You could tell by his movements that he probably could run circles around a guy without hesitation or breathing heavily.
I put him around 21 to 25 in age. Around about 150 to 165 pounds.
He was wearing a plaid short sleeve button up and a white shirt underneath. His chin was clean and up. Kinda looking down his nose at you as he talked.
"Hi, how's it going?"
"Pretty good," he says. " I'm thinking about getting my first tattoo."
"Oh yeah? Whataya thinking about? Skulls? Dragons? Two female vampires fighting over a bloody tampon?"
He is like, " No, nothing like that!"
The joke broke his facade. I seen his shoulders drop and he relaxed a little.
I am a good reader of body language. When he walked in, he was a little scared. He hadn't been to many and you could see that.
The truth of the matter is, he came to get some work. His mind was set upon it.
"Truthfully, I don't know what I want."
Oh no! The worst kind of guy!
The "Tell me what I want" kinda guy.
I looked him in the eyes and smiled. It was an "I'm being patient" kind of smile.
"Why don't you take a minute to look around and see if you gravitate to any image." We have lots of flash tattoo ideas in our shop.
Evidence has proven, many times over that being pushy right of the bat, has never helped me get what I want. And I want to to tattoo.
I'm kind of a big guy too. People can find me kind of ominous when I'm like in your face throwing ideas out at you. One after the other and then you just aren't interested in any of them I tend to get aggravated.
So... I decided to lay back since I wasn't in a hurry.
I just sit back and let him fill his head with whatever he wants. Wether it be dolphins or bumble bees. Fire or the like. May it be a dolphin on fire or a bumble bee in the water. I do not disturb his process.
I would love to think that people still do this rather than searching the internet for some immaculate idea that is done a thousand times over.
So, he's looking around and I then I ask him if he has ever seen any of our work? I point him over to our portfolios and tell him that those are pictures of the work we like to do.
"Which one is yours?"
I have him.
Being pushy never works.
I point to the thinner black ones and walk away.
I sit back behind the computer screen and wait. Getting reference for some artwork and looking busy and keeping to myself all the while one eye on him.
He is actually taking his time.
Slowly looking over each photograph. Taking in what he wants. I'm glad that I don't know what people are thinking when they go through my work.
I usually get a laugh or two sometimes. I have a guy in there who has a tattoo across his lower back that actually says "TRAMP STAMP". People always laugh when they see it.
He smirked a little.
A little time goes by and he wants a tree. And a cemetery gate. And a bunch of headstones.
I would have never guessed.
My appointment with him is Tuesday.
You see, the tattoo shop is filled with talented people. People who are artistically inclined.
The people who come to the tattoo shop want something. Something that makes them feel good. Something that makes them feel great about themselves. Makes them see something different on themselves.
Let it be a fine piece of art or maybe a body adornment that is precise and straight.
I don't claim to have some perfect read on every person who comes through the door. But I will say, I know this.
When they do come through that front door, they want something. I do my best to connect with them.
It's good that among my talents, I am good with people.
Aye, but that's life in a tattoo shop. It's not always glamorous. It's not always something that goes the way you would expect either.
It's always going to be a surprise though. I'll guarantee you that.
Night buddy.

02062016
    The dark side of the day has come. I wilt after the sunken star. With the breath of God behind me pushing me home.
   Boredom beaten with heavy brows my eyes intent upon destination known. Headed west of town and over the hills passing through with ease.
   My furry beasts at foot. Happy demeanor over my arrival. Hungry bellies are fed raw meat and they love it when I make the gravy.
  Clouds make fog as I exhale. It covers the room with the smells of cotton candy. Deep couch sitting with walls covered in family. Times not forgotten. Framed under glass the memories made.
   The growls from kids who don't talk back fill my dog and bring me back from the depths of thought I write here. They frolic about with their grunts and growls and I think to my own belly.
   The day was good. I'm alive and well. I have a home and things that are happy. Enjoying some things on my list of gratitude.
   I hope you are well. Thank for reading.