Coffee Shop Poem/ Purpose statement/ Remember

Fresh brewed coffee; I close my eyes and take the aroma in slowly filling my lungs. Smooth indie music plays and I’m looking around the café, reading the faces of readers who read their books. Students who type on laptops and coffee beans grounded in a blender reminding everyone that the sale carry on, even now. At five o’clock in the evening downtown. Eighty-one degrees outside fresh after a week of autumn. The entire room, talks low, speaks easy, and doesn’t draw too much attention. How does having purpose affect the quality of your life? What happens when you do not have purpose in your life? The quality of life is unmesureable. The connections people make with each other are needed to increase our over all understanding of being alive. To have purpose, one often looks to their pretscers who accomplish all their goals and in that inspiration, purpose is born. A boy born into a family of farmers would more likely find his purpose in securing his survival by relying skills he gathered while being raised in that environment? Everything we do is working toward a purpose. Whether it’s finical stability, spiritual awareness, physical perfection, social acceptance. What do you rememeber? I sat outside aside by a lake down hill from and closed my eyes. First, I heard cars behind me in the distance driving. The tires trampling over a speed bump had distracted me at first from focusing all my attention to water flowing down stream pushing under the bridge with the speed bump. Planes passing overhead were loud at first but then faded in the distance. Woodpeckers were tapping across the lake almost the entire time I sat there. There had to be at least four or five. The only thing that overpowered the sound of rabid tapping was a more airplane blasting my hearing at first but then calmly fading away. I could almost tell the difference between each aircraft by the time it would take to fade. There was a splash in the water suddenly, which caught my attention. It sounded like someone might have thrown something but I didn’t hear any voices near me. I listened harder but still heard nothing that sound like footsteps in the grass. After doing this for about a minute, I listened to the wind blow pass. The sound was really coming from the trees above ruffling against each other.

As a part of my new year, Digital spring cleaning. Old writings found in cleaning up my files

Dragon Con Poem written November 1st 2015 They decided to leave together. The nurse and the walking egg. The party wasn't dying down as Villains made their way from bus stops. Angels clutches their wings as autumn winds sweep pass. Witches and Amazons danced with Spartans and Ghostbusters to a track by The Roots and Dilla! They call it Plug two. The celebration’s climax had just begun. Jack O Lanterns glowing . Liquor overflowing, feet stomping as she danced. The zombie themed nurse from South Georgia laughed out loud. Her cup was empty. Exhausted from being full. Tonight…. She was the undead. To the night crawling X-men cosplayers….she was a dancing Goddess.. The front door opens to a white shell well over five feet tall. It wore tennis shoes and had no room to walk through the crowd. It scrabbled passed the DJ Booth. It posted near the John. It cracked some poor bastard who had turned to him and thought he was golf ball. So they decided to leave together. After glimpses across the jubilation. After casual word exchange. Before he accidentally stepped on her left foot. Before the "Who came first dilemma involving a chicken" joke was uttered. She laughed at him and smiled. "Do you want to go so where?" "Where?" "Some where quiet." A Solider singing Hendrix. Karaoke fun. "All Along the Watchtower" As Storm troopers and vampires join in drunken. As the undead and poultry conversed into the next hour. But she wanted to leave. She wanted to. The egg didn't seem to mind.

As a part of my new year, Digital spring cleaning. Old writings found in cleaning up my files

October 3rd 2014(Day this was written) I’m starting to think the only time I can focus any more is away from my family. This thinking doesn’t have a simple explanation to it. In fact it comes of as a prideful method to my work as a writer. My father this morning got up and cursed out some poor city slicker on the phone. This of course wakes me to my mother laughing at him in his rage, which I’ m sure she has developed as a defense mechanism to counter his temper tantrums. Nothing gets out of hand but he does march up and down the hall, nick picking at every issue. Why do we as people tolerate things like this… its because we love him. My life is totally about love for my family and respect for them. Any thing that I have established about myself is owed to them. My state of mind, my broken traumatic childhood which taught me over time about life and it’s lets down, the kindness words you can say, and the meanness phrase you can put out there. This is my family, the ones I love. But damn it! I can’t focus. My mother sits around and fumes about my father and his behavior. My nephew is constantly up to any 12 years olds sneaky crap he can get way, and my father yells. Don’t get me wrong; He loves his life there in the country. He always say he rather be away from where people could find him easily. I guess that where I going with this move. Away from the studio apartment many have come to know as my Bachelor’s Pad. I didn’t really myself getting anything done there when it came to staying in that apartment when it came to writing and I feel the same way at my mom’s house. It dawned on me, I used to feel like the loneliness and lack of people in my house through me off focus, but know I see its because my thinking is different when I comfortable. Laying on the couch, sitting down stairs, lying in the guest room all make me too comfortable and I loses my muse of adventure for my writing. I no longer hold the advantage of my imagination and I don’t feel like writing. Maybe in the blog at times, but I never just sat down and really got any school work, personal projects, or free time poems. I haven’t even had my finger fly over my keyboard in two days and I realize…. I not writing…. I should be writing…. but I’m not. These are the times when I am really, really feel crazy about being in school. I even considered moving back home for a moment before I decided to crash with my co-worker at his mother’s house. I need to feel uneasy in order to write. I doubt if that makes sense. It’s like sometimes I need to be under pressure or running out of time. -AD

My 2022

I have done something I've never done before. Embarked on a new sense of self awareness inside of this ever growing chaotic post-Covid world. The last time I blogged was back in April. I know. I know. Why even have this account if I will simply ignore it or not have time to do the very thing I carried out such a large student loan out for? What can I tell you to explain? Truth is, I've been writing material. Just not mine. Let me explain. My Fiverr.com sccount has been getting more and more clients. I've even been able to raise prices of my "gigs" and feel way more confident about my skills (espically since seeing how much non-writers need help.) I have found myself excited about the next project. Egar to come up with stories and scripts for clients and find myself glued to my porfile's review wall where clients can leave a rating and comment. Bsides that, I still have my dayjob as a cook to support and provide. I've always been a survivor in that sense, but I have freed time to create. Creating things to share with people who will feel something. Hell, Feel anything after they seee what I have to offer. On my birthday, I had new, QR coded busniess cards that lead directly to my Fiverr.com gig page prepared with a revised video I edited. The reebrand had me feeling good but I also remeinded me of what enjoyed doing for fun. Simply creating content using my editing skills to tell my stories. As I type this, I am currently working on my own Youtbe channel material. My little creative hobby on the side. Wish me look as I go into the year 2023. God knows we as a people could usee more going forward in this crazy world.

Sweet isn't as sweet without the sour.

Personal Entry It's been a while, I know. So much has changed in the world since we last spoke, So much has happened with me too. To start off, I have offically began my career as a freelancer on Fiverr.com (Now a days who hasn't, right?) Good reveiews and getting paid for your work is about as good as you make it. I work as a cook. still as a trade to pay bills but I find myself satisfied with the results of my labor in the work space. Today, My mother is getting married to her fiance and as I sit on the back porch listening to Miles Davis and typing this,I understand somthing about what we as people get out of satifaction when it comes to what we want out of this life. For me it's my love of writing and being comfotable where I currently am at 32 years old. For my mother it's finding peace in her personal life and sharing said life with someone she loves. I guess we all will find these moments in our own time. These small delicate moments we get all be it few and far in between. Be blessed and greatful for these moments and remeber them in the hard times. Remember the sweet is never as sweet with out the sour. -Antonio Douglas April 23, 2021

A year away, back for a chat.....Story is........Dog Trouble

 I could make my epic return to blogging about my experience and feelings on the virus pandemic going on in the world that started earlier this year but I feel that wouldn't be in the spirit of why I started this blog. To share my stories, my life with readers who have an open mind to want to get to know that strange guy who gave them his business car at that party that one time. 

Instead, I'm going to share a story about a pal of mine, A four-legged companion who has cost me nothing in purchase yet so much in consequence.   Zero, my dog.

To say that I care about Zero and rarely show it is not only untrue, but it's also a downright criminal. I admit I'm not a passionate dog owner who has his laptop wallpaper decorated with the "dog in the park" pictures.  I  still make sure he eats, goes outside to do his business and check google if he seems to be acting off or sick. (You don't like that last one. Sue me.)  I make sure he gets exercise and maintain a fun and keep doggy treats on deck. For the most part, he's as well adjusted as most dogs who are adopted.  He's grey and three years old. He's playful and the origins of his name come from a Tim Burton film titled "Nightmare before Christmas". The main character Jack Skeleton pet ghost dog name.

I suppose the two dogs, one from fiction and the other real,  serve as companions to their owners like all dogs do. In return, they receive love and affection. Although, if you ask me, the relationship the Jack had with his Zero is probably more on the affection since they both were dead and living in Halloween town. 

Zero and I have an understanding of sorts. When I first got him he was terrified of me and I was of him. He was my first dog since I was a child and Zero was already full-grown and rescued. Yet this past year has taught me to be a good caregiver for him.  I come to care about his feelings. When he's sad, I feel it, and when he's happy, I know. Pet owners would understand this.

The story starts on a Friday evening about a week ago.  I was working on a script for a client on Fiverr.com while sitting in my sunroom. Three of the four walls that made this area perfect for me to write were made of screen windows. Often when I sit there to do my writing I listen to old records, watch movies on my projector and screen, and sit with Zero. 

Often when other dogs are walking by, Zero would bark at them in excitement. If they were small dogs he's suddenly a badass protecting the house. (But really he's a big softy). Zero sits next to my legs whenever that wasn't happening. He never gets through the screens

 So on this particular day, I walked back inside the house to use the bathroom leaving Zero in the sunroom. As I relieve myself, I hear barking, Normally meaning a dog is walking by. Then I hear a woman shouting out." Get away from my dog!" . 

First thought: SHIT!

Second Thought: He couldn't have made it out!

I open my front door and see my dog and a neighbor's dog facing off in what I could only describe as a quick back and forth before Zero notices me coming toward him which made his back away backed away.

After I grabbed him andwalked back in side, My neighbor from six houses down the street tells me she's calling the police. Aoperently she wanted a police report. andcsn

Today,I awoke

September 6th.2019

I woke up this morning after dreaming I was in prison with Ice Cube wearing a cask around his arm. He punched me after I somehow caused an issue but for the life of me, I can't recall from the dream what I did. I mean, after all,  it was a dream, fleeting and ever distancing itself from my consciousness. After he had right hooked me, I said, "I guessing that whole friendship thing is off the table." in true cinema fashion. Of course, I began to realize that I was dreaming when it did occur to me how I was going to explain this to co-workers on Tuesday, completely forgetting about the prison bars, surrounding convicts and the small issue of not being allowed to leave. Then before you know it, I wake up in my bed to the sounds of my computer playing back YouTube videos and my dog Zero snoring. It was insane that I had to catch up to why I wasn't in prison.  I had never even been to jail and hardly watch films or shows that are set in place like that. (Except Shawshank Redemption, because that movie was awesome.)

Not the strangest dream I've had but the freshest on my memory still intact by the time I made it to somewhere I could write about it. But I digress.

Hello readers,

I am glad to announce that I am officially graduated with a Master's degree in creative writing. It is on this day, I should be walking across the stage,  looking out to my mother and mouthing the words, "I love you!" to her.  Today the graduation ceremony I had postponed until I gathered enough money to travel to Florida. But I didn't really think it was that important considering that a huge   Hurricane had hit Florida and my mother car had been acting up putting a real doubt on if we were going to make it safely. So I'm over it. The only thing that matters is that I got the degree. Right?

You might be thinking to yourself, " That's sad he can't attend  or won't." Perhaps you don't really care. But I do and yet, I ok with it.

I trying to be better this time around with my level of education. Better and more prepared. Last time, when I get the bachelors, my friend accidentally broke my laptop the same month. ( I know!) I that left me unable to write for months falling into such a writer's block.