WordPress Bloggers

I came across this today in the forums when I was finding out about this “wordpress 2013 review” post being shared around. I find it amusing that people not only jump to conclusions but also are quick to lie. Have some class people.

“I have a follower who has just started following my blog. He (or she) has said on their blog that they abuse and offend everyone who has a blog. How do I either block this person or remove and not let them follow again. Their blog address is http://aopinionatedman.com My writings are just lighthearted fun without opinionated man ruining it with his abusive comments. I know I reject his comments but it still hurts me to even read what he puts.

In advance thank you for your help”

Learn how to read, I don’t go around abusing blogs or bloggers. My tagline addresses my words on my blog. If they offend you block my blog, but don’t go running to WordPress and their developers with fake accusations. That is just weak. I don’t comment on anyone’s blog unless they pingback, link to my page, or directly address me in their post.

People are so sensitive.


Updated Website Changes

I have added a “Q&A with OM” page which you can view by clicking on the link tab. I will answer questions here as openly as I am able, but there will be some topics I may avoid. Please feel free to field your inquiries here or if you don’t feel comfortable speaking in open forum please email me at aopinionatedman@gmail.com. Thank you to all that continue to visit and have a great new year!

I have also added a message board to the sidebar which I will actively keep updated with new website changes or events. Thanks!


Stuck at Work

Happy New Years to me… stuck at work on new year’s eve. No Microsoft this holiday does not deserve to be capitalized. I never get it off! And why is it that while the peons work and slave away during the holidays all we can imagine is the owners and bosses of our companies laughing, drinking champagne, sitting in their cabins, at the beach where it is warm, toasting in the new years and generally having a good time… no that couldn’t possibly be true. They are probably hard at work on new year’s eve as well. I just know it.

Oh well, happy new years everyone. Be safe.


The Daily Opinion – Society

With the growth in surveillance and the monitoring of society by “World Governments” do you as a citizen feel safer with more eyes on your every action?

Changes, a Tale of Two Blogs, New Years, & Updates

That is a really long title, but it covers everything I wish to say in this post. I am pleased to announce that my other website is fully up and running. I have gone back and forth about what I want “A Good Blog is Hard to Find” to be about and I can’t decide. So with my indecision comes a decision actually. I will run both blogs at the same time equally. I have even separated my “office time” between the two so you will know which site I will primarily be on. I placed a text box on the right column that shows my “office hours.” I also added a “recent posts widget” to show the posts on the alternate blog.

My goal for this New Year in terms of blogging is really simple. I will attempt to write four blog posts per website daily during my work week. We will see how that goes. These posts will range from Poetry, The Daily Opinion, World Opinions, Personal Articles, Creative Writing, and The Lost Journals which is my attempt at flash fiction. These will be my primary focuses this next year for both blogs. The only posts that will be copied to both websites are announcements and The Lost Journal entries. All other posts will be new and specific to each website, so I hope my readers get a chance to visit both websites to see all my articles for the day.

I will provide a brief breakdown of my categories for the year.

Poetry – I generally write prose, but sometimes like to try a rhyme or two. I am new at writing poetry even though I have been attempting to write it since I was 12. I love showing my audience what I am seeing through my words.

The Daily Opinion – These are writing and thought prompts that I do for fun. I enjoy sharing an opinion even if it is not my own sometimes. Debate and healthy conversation is never a bad thing.

World Opinions – I care about the world and what happens in it. I frequently visit news websites and watch a lot of news during the day. This allows me to rant and rave about humans on a nightly basis.

Personal Articles – I will occasionally share a bit about myself. It took me a whole year to give you my first name, which is Jason if you missed it. We will see what I share this year.

Creative Writing – Sometimes my writing just cannot be categorized as a “prose” or even a random article. I will then just claim it is “creative” and hope people accept that.

The Lost Journals – This is my attempt at flash fiction. All names, people, and places in this online book are fiction. I want to clarify that this is not me copying another book, I am writing this real-time for your enjoyment. Each “page” is being written as a current post when and as I feel like adding to the story. I think this is going to be an exciting book and I hope some of you enjoy following it this year. I will post these pages on both blogs.

My blogs can be found at www.shatteredsmoke.com and www.aopinionatedman.com. Thank you again for the support and the encouragement. I appreciate all my readers.

One last update. My two eBooks from 2013 have been pulled, unpublished, and shelved. They will no longer be available for purchase. I appreciate everyone that bought and gave them a read. It was a great learning experience! I am still deciding my future plans in terms of books, eBooks, and publishing.

Thank you to Drakon http://submissivenextdoor.wordpress.com/ for the new Colorado Blogger Badge! I am proudly flying it on both my blogs!

-Opinionated Man

cob OM5

I wouldn’t read that…

Have you ever gone back and read what you wrote the night before and wondered if someone hacked your account? And then you see something distinct… say a smiley face or a signature and you *groan* because you know it WAS you that wrote it? Yep that happened last night…

For everything except the Justin Bieber post of course.

-Opinionated Man

BTW: I am glad I don’t get hangovers.

People… Coworkers… Humans…

Have you ever run into one of those people that constantly complain?

Have you ever encountered a person so stuck in their world they are totally oblivious to people ignoring them? They just keep talking… and talking… and talking?

Have you ever met anyone that does both of those things?

Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?

Have you ever tried to do so with a plastic knife?

Have they ever run out of plastic knives at work and you tried to use a plastic spoon instead?

No? Ok… then I won’t write my post for the night… oh wait I just did…


Giving things for free

I don’t view giving my words out for free as a bad thing. Sure I care and would love to have more money in life. And who says giving things for free isn’t a way to get there as well? I suppose that sounds pretty ignorant, perhaps it is. It makes sense to me as I stir my thoughts in my wine glass at 6 am. I slept five hours tonight and you know what that means. So I feel as rested as anyone can feel that normally only sleeps for four hours at a time. I wonder what I did to Sleep to piss her off…

Everyone is so quick to bottle things. I look around a lot and I read introduction and welcome posts in which people debate with themselves the sanity of writing for free. And like I said I get it, especially at 6 am with the budget excel spreadsheet in the background. Why does the one sentence from a post still stick in my head? “No one made money off of blogging.” Interesting. I sure hope that isn’t true…


Closing 2013 – A HarsH ReaLiTy – A Look Back – Forward

If my posts have seemed a bit reflective that is because I have been stuck in that state this week. There is a reason. My first renewal payment for this domain is coming up and some might call me crazy, but I actually have juggled with the idea of not renewing it. I am going to write out the reasons why in this post, they aren’t complaints, they are simple realities.

I never knew what I was making here. I just did it. I have created something special through gathering a group of people that love to converse and share their thoughts on writing and the world. I believe, just from my numbers that I am forced to see from the dashboard, that there are about twenty times as many reading on a weekly basis that don’t comment and that is ok. The numbers still shock me sometimes. The popularity of this website is truly remarkable and it could never be what it is without the readers.

Many would consider this the end game and would probably sit back and run this site till they grew bored with it and moved on to a new blog in the future. Some might sell the domain if they were inclined, I actually thought about it at one point. It would have been a decision I would have regretted later. I know the reasons why it would have been a stupid idea, but at the same time I will admit the idea of it brought a temporary sense of relief. This website is a job to be honestly and I still have a real job I work at for 40 hours a week. I then also have two children and a wife with needs, not to mention a home that is secretly battling me and my pocketbook. You add in a couple hundred comments a day that need responding to, ten or so emails from wordpress followers as well, and then personal emails on top… and you have one busy ass schedule.

It has been an awesome year. I have enjoyed growing with this blog and having a place to quickly release my fears, passions, beliefs, and random rants when I want. The bloggers I have met, the challenges I have faced, the two eBooks I wrote, Project O, and the many guest bloggers I have encountered have all been a great experience. This website is now a fresh start though, excluding me sharing my past poetry. I will move on from here with new materiel only and I may even decide if a real novel is worth tackling. Who knows but 2014?

I will renew this website on January 3, 2014. One more year of HarsH ReaLiTy. I have adopted a new habit as well, one you all might be proud of. Any negative comments will be ignored and I have blocked bloggers I know do not like my work, what I am doing on WordPress, or really just me. That is cool there is plenty of room here for us all. Stay over there.

HarsH ReaLiTy will continue to be a place for my thoughts, dreams, and sometimes releases of anger. I hope you will continue to enjoy reading my chaos.

I want to say one final time before this post gets really out of hand and cheesy a heartfelt Thank You! Without you all that come here and read, I would never have written a lot of the things I got to write this year. So thank you.


2013 Poetry Collection

I just posted my 2013 poetry collection. I was going to do them as an explosion of blog posts… but then I got lazy. Hope you enjoy the posts and from now on please come view my poetry at my new blog.


Thanks for the views and the kind comments. I hope the next year brings more poetry.

I will be taking a bit of a break. I’ll get to comments when I get back. Take care world!

Opinionated Man

I got lazy

The Beautiful Weed

Someone said you were bad, not worth keeping around. Your single flower droops, letting me know that you heard their unkind words. They were jealous, do not mind them, they tried to grow a cactus and thought there would be flowers. They are ashamed that something that is free, such as you, could possibly outshine a forty dollar rose. And yet your beauty comes from your very nature, a nature not bound by the rules of others. Those snobbish spring flowers in their cushioned holders at the garden store, so weak compared to those like you that brave nature’s wrath. Where is the appreciation though? Where are the fences and the fertilizer for you, you that have struggled since birth? Like the young lion cub, you have ventured into the world without help or fear. Your only banner is the single, multicolored flower that stands proudly on top of your being. Hold your banner up with pride for whether free or expensive, bright or dull, inside or outside, your flower is your pride. Let no one take that from you.

-Opinionated Man



Falling Snow

Falling snow coming down reminds me of what?
Forgotten angel wings or collected wishes but,
could it be still evil that lurks in the night?
with the coming morning it comes, powerful might.

And yet how could this scene be evil?
A carpet of blessed white, laughter’s seal.
Can warmth come from the cold?
The old know, the young are still bold.

Falling snow, it tempers the youth in us.
Falling snow, falling thoughts for us.
And with the coming sun shines a fresh earth.
Ready to give up ideas, inspiration’s birth.

-Opinionated Man

Note: Please see office assistant to volunteer for snow shoveling lessons…




I have a secret to tell, no one is supposed to know.
It doesn’t matter the news is not mine to sow.

It was a friend, it is a friend, will the drama end?
And all the while behind the scene who has really sinned?

Watch it now, as it creeps, as it suddenly grows.
From the lunch room to the gym, suddenly everyone knows.

But who was the Spider that spun the original web?
Not every string, but the First, is from Spider’s bed.

Does it make you wonder, produce any guilt within?
To know you hurt with this particular vengeful sin?

Whether rumor or truth don’t become the mill.
No one respects the creator of that particular hill.

Gossip floats on the back of never-ending time.
Time is never-ending, this creates a pretty little bind.

For nothing holds faster than the spoken word aloud.
It bites you in the rear, and suddenly you are bound.

Slay the temptation of gossip’s joy before it begins.
Else Strife’s deft hand shall chalk up another win.

Good Night,
-Opinionated Man



A Blog, A Dream

Can I write an article on a topic you hate and still make it interesting enough that you read the whole thing?
Can I write an article with a blank title and still have it viewed?
If my poem ends up not rhyming, will you still like it?
If you hate something of mine can I make you hate it so much you comment?
Can I offend you to the point that you give up on the idea of being offended?
What if I wrote a magazine by myself, could I write well enough that every article is read? Every issue?
One day will I ever know how to use a “;” correctly?
A year from now will my blog read like a Harry Potter series on crack?
How many of you will still be here in a year?

Hopefully a year from now I will still be blogging and still care to dream.

-Opinionated Man



Majestic Peak

In the distance you stand, tall and proud.

A story possibly untold, a story waiting to unfold.

Surrounded by lesser peaks, I imagine your disdain.

And yet their inadequacies only highlight your glory.

You do not need a name, your presence is your reign.

But still man wants to name you.

We place our mark, the red banner in the sky.

And then sit back and watch dreams fly by.

On this majestic peak, we are far and near.

Far from troubles past, blessed future is clear.

-Opinionated Man




Be still my heart, match the still night.
Troubles fade as noise dissolves.
Hidden strength, not the time for might.
Surrounded by comforting walls.

Finally do I have what I seek.
Peace away from all.
Suddenly do I feel weak.
Into depression I fall.

Might I actually miss it?
Do I really like the noise?
No, silence is a better fit.
At least I don’t have boys.

-Opinionated Man



Forever Fleeting

Fading, it fades so quickly. I grasp at it, but it might as well be smoke. My fingers curl around nothing and the emptiness that I feel is compounded even more by the fact that I am beginning to forget what I am missing. The dream is leaving me, and like cupped hands holding water I can feel it trickling through my fingers. There was something there, something important, something I now miss. I cannot describe it; I could have a minute ago, perhaps even a second. Now, I would be lucky to recognize whatever it was even if I had it in front of me. Agonizing, it drives me almost insane if I allow myself to think on it. I do not; instead I try to remain blissful in my ignorance, an ignorance that grows with every coming second. I gradually return to a manageable state, a state of walking while in a dream.

I now do not care, I am now happy.

-Opinionated Man



The Killer

He breathes, his breath comes evenly.
He is calm, no cares in the world seemingly.

Watching, ever watching, his eyes darting.
He sees the one, it is starting.

A heightened sense of sorrow, happiness too.
A rush to get it over, savor it through…

He knows what must be done, it has been done.
Quickly he rushes forward at a run.

Fear mixed with pain, anger and then delight.
Feelings saturate the still night.

And as the sun rises it reveals a still form.
A dream broken, a soul eternally torn.

-Opinionated Man



Never Forgotten

Her name was Kitty. She was an elderly woman at my church and that is all I knew to start off, other than the fact that suddenly I had been “tasked” with fixing random stuff at this old woman’s apartment. I believe that if you had asked me on the first day going to Kitty’s house what my feelings were they would have been a perfect mixture of dread and loathing. Dread because I had no idea what this lady was about to ask me to do, and loathing because I had so many other more important things that a fifteen year old could be doing, right?

I never knew her story till later on, after she had gained my friendship. Sad that I think of it that way, her gaining mine, when in the end I couldn’t have been more honored to have been called her friend. I remember the first day arriving at her place, it was the only time I ever had her pick me up, it was the scariest ride of my life. If a fifteen year old is scared in the car then the car ride is freaking scary. I remember being so close to fire hydrants that I just closed my eyes and waited for the car to either stop or crash. She never wrecked though… amazingly enough. It did not fortify my faith in the elderly driving, however.

Kitty had a best friend, her dog Sunny. Sunny was a Chow and he was gorgeous. Called Sunny because of his fluffy yellow coat, he was an energetic dog and I could tell that the bond between owner and pet was much more than social. They had a pact, a friendship that was stronger than it probably should have been. I say that because later on I found out why this friendship was so close, Kitty had no one else in her life. Her story was another reason for me to hate “some” organized religion. The callous nature in which her former best friends had treated her made me want to go to their nursing home and break every shuffle board stick there.

Kitty had grown up in a Protestant church (I am using Protestant here because I am not sure of the denomination) for most of her life. For some reason, I have forgotten the exact cause, she decided to search for something else. The odd part is that she searched for a new religion late in life after she was well passed the ages in which discovery should be important or happening. She was at a mature enough age that she should have already decided how she felt about most things life had thrown at her, instead she was facing new challenges and questions every day. When Kitty found my Orthodox Church she was embraced by the parishioners there, as is our custom. What we later found out was that all of Kitty’s lifelong friends from her old church immediately shunned her when she left. They cut her off like a cancer cell.

This was not some sixteen year old girl going through a high school drama episode. I might have begun to understand that, at least to a degree, no this was something far crueler in my eyes. Who cares where someone goes on one day of the week as long as your voices are going in the same direction. True, I do see a difference in other people’s churches and mine and other people’s god and mine own, but that does not mean that I discriminate against those people in regards to friendship. This was a truly sad moment in my own religious journey, as I learned just how important people feel about some issues in life. Those people felt so indifferent to her that they did not even show up at her funeral some years later, a funeral I was proud to be a pallbearer at.

In Memory of Kitty,
-Opinionated Man



Writing against Reclusiveness

I am complex. I love seeing people, crowds, new and exciting places, but I am just as happy discovering those places and people from the safety of my own home. That is probably why I love the Discovery channel so much. I think given the right incentive I might have become a reclusive spider, a lonely spirit. Thankfully I did not turn into that type of person and much of that has to do with the fact that I fight things within my personality that I hate. I use extremities such as the words hate and love to justify why I strongly dislike or like something. Perhaps that may seem silly to some, but when you have lived your life in the gray area for so long you sometimes want to return to a time when things were white and black.

My blogging and writing has compelled me to see the world more. Instead of wanting to be lazy I find that I love going out now and being inspired. It doesn’t take much; it could be a single bird on a light post or a solitary figure walking down a road. I am drawn to oddities and singular occurrences, I find them intriguing. I want to know why that person is doing what they are doing; I probably missed my calling and should have been a detective or something. A camera will start to always be in my car or bag, I don’t foresee myself posting tons of pictures, but you never know when a great shot may come along.

I used to find that seeing other people happy made me depressive. If others were happy or I had to see them being happy it would annoy or anger me because I wasn’t always happy myself. I have found that money has been a deciding factor for the amount of time I spent in the past hiding from society. Whoever said “having money doesn’t solve problems,” obviously never had the problems not having money presents. When my wife and I are doing well on finances we are happy spenders and the government loves us. But as soon as money is tight we close up in our shell to society and possibly to each other. It is a human reflex, I suppose, but our slavery to human possession is horrible if you take the time to contemplate it. That really is a side issue and not what I wished to talk about, but it is a piggy back to the fact that external factors seem to cause me to become reclusive the most, it is not a personal characteristic I don’t think.

I can only hope that my writing continues to inspire me to see the world and the people in it. I actually hope that at some point my writing may free me, possibly financially, to see the world that I have always wanted to see. My few trips to Asian countries, namely Korea twice, were less than savory so I am looking forward to making new and better memories in the future. I have always wanted to see the world and what better time than now?

-Opinionated Man



The Memory

Fleeting, always fading never setting.
Lost, almost grasped by thought’s netting.

Lost treasure of importance, whimsical expression.
A mistake made or life’s one lesson.

Who shall known a thought unknown.
A memory, a dream, a seed that has been sowed.

Perhaps a fortune lost, a poem never written.
A love letter lost, a soul not smitten.

A war stopped or a terrible act committed.
Who can say what has now been omitted.

Perhaps we are better off in ignorance.
Not knowing the meaning of every occurence.

We are but human after all, not omnipotent.
Besides, sounds a boring life to spend.

-Opinionated Man




Fleeting, always fading never setting.
Lost, almost grasped by thought’s netting.

Lost treasure of importance, whimsical expression.
A mistake made or life’s one lesson.

Who shall known a thought unknown.
A memory, a dream, a seed that has been sowed.

Perhaps a fortune lost, a poem never written.
A love letter lost, a soul not smitten.

A war stopped or a terrible act committed.
Who can say what has now been omitted.

Perhaps we are better off in ignorance.
Not knowing the meaning of every occurence.

We are but human after all, not omnipotent.
Besides, sounds a boring life to spend.

-Opinionated Man




I am generic.

You get what you see.

Name brand is one aisle over and has experience.

I am homemade.

There is no obligation within these walls.

When I disappoint, I am discarded… not returned.

Who returns something generic?

Instead… people simply forget they bought it.





I care not who you are or where you come from. Your height and weight matter little to me. Race… I would only notice at a glance. My enemy has no personality, he is just my enemy. I seek to destroy him, I have no regrets. No nightmares or terrors will haunt my sleep; once you are buried you are gone. Spark my rage, it burns away inhibition. Suddenly, the beast is awake and he casts off the weak persona he wears as a facade. All I see now is my victim, my adversary.




The Artist

Note: Inspired by my wife.

She stares…

The canvas as white as a carpet of snow.
Boundless, its depth has no end and stretches as far as the eye can see.
It is already painted in Her mind, and the board simply awaits her creation.

She contemplates…

She is torn between the struggle for the need to paint what is already imagined in her mind’s eye, and the horror of perhaps ruining the perfect conception which has not been given life.
She contemplates the motions she will maneuver and the skill which will be needed to bring to birth that which waits to be shown to the world.
She knows that her passion must be realized, but realizing this does not make her rush.
She waits till the very last moment, till the bud has almost burst forth the flower within on its own…

She reaches for her brush…

And with the first stroke She knows, with a sigh of relief and an exhale of all the pent up frustration, She knows.
The painting is not being created by her, but it is simply holding her hand as they approach the world together.
Just as a child must learn to walk with the steady hand of an elder, so too the painting must be introduced to the chaotic world which it is about to encounter.

She smiles… And knows…

A masterpiece has begun…

-Opinionated Man



You Don’t Matter

Left bin, right bin…

They fly in the air, carelessly thrown.

They fly like the angels they were… the angels they are soon to be.

Scrub, scrub, wash, and wash the blood away.

Down the drain goes the blood, sweat, and tears.

A crying soul joins them.

And as that soul dies, it is left with one thought.

You don’t matter…




A Familiar Voice

They chatter above and their laughter is infectious.
If only I did not know they were laughing at me.
A familiar voice, here and there.
Those singular tones I know so well.
They stand out like a light in the night.
I hear their words in the clamor.

I clinch my jaw and trudge onward.
And above, the Seagulls laugh.



Lessons from the Struggle

It is hard to view life as a struggle. The young leaf moves with the breeze and tries to extend its life for just another second. The drowning man has only one life to lose and precious seconds left to breath. It is a sad thing to live life by the second. The heart beats a lonely tune and has no chorus behind it. It is a sad melody which plays, and the feet which dance to the melody have wings of their own. My life is an open book. A book which has gone tumbling from the shelf to the floor and gathers dust. It is a forgotten and torn book, pages are missing and the title has been rubbed off the cover. The writer sits idly by, watching the clouds as his ink pen dries and his pages shrivel to dust. It is a sad sight. A sight which would make any artist sigh and any observer cry in sorrow. It is a wonder that such sights are missed. Their value is underscored by the fact that there are no words to describe what we see. The angels must be entertained by the many acts which we do, the symbolisms made by ideas and connections not seen by the human eye. It is this type of observance, an observance lost by man, which is the true sorrow and lose which we should mourn. Nothing is more valuable than the unspoken thought, for it is the only true feeling which we have in this world. It is a very tragic thing for so many invaluable thoughts to go unused. I say that we should explore every thought and speak every emotion. Emotion can never be a wasted expression, for many times our emotions tell us how we truly feel. If my soul had a door, I would keep it locked tight. Even closed I can feel what is hidden inside, dancing with the anticipation of release. I stop and ponder before ever releasing one of my shadows, for how bad would my conscience be if it were to consume the light of someone I cared for. Much better it is to carry the burden of one’s shadowy past, then to risk marring the fragile beauty which comes only a few times in your life. Who is to say that the next tap on your shoulder may not be the one which alters the present course of your ship? If the image presented is the placid outside face of one in control, one who stoically holds the key. The impression felt will surely then turn out well. Annoying as it is to have the beast seeing through your eyes, peeping out to glance at the world as best as he can. Much better still it is then being in the belly of the beast. For to release what is locked inside is a risky thing, and who can dare risk such a move at any point in your life. Regardless of how you look at it, the hourglass is half full or half empty, it is still an hourglass and your eyes can see the >passing of time. Should there be two funeral piers to light the sky, I do not know. But should they light the skies with their flames, it is assured that smoke would only rise from one. This should be a sign of comfort and not worry. I close my eyes and I see a river. A glistening strand of God’s glory. It seems to sing with its sounds of rippling water and occasional churning of waves. Suddenly a shadow appears, as if a cloud had suddenly moved to obscure the sun which was just a second ago burning brightly. With the blocking of the sun comes the anger and stress of having my perfect picture and moment ruined by something outside of my control. But should it not be my cloud to command? Is it not my vision, my picture of paradise, which was and is my own construction of my imagination? The unfairness of the situation darkens my mind more than the cloud ever did. My being has suddenly been bitten by that poisonous snake. That viper of anger and bitterness to which there is no cure.

By Opinionated Man




We Two

We two are one. Separate we live, together we struggle. We present many impressions with our actions and words, both spoken and written. We cannot separate from each other, and yet we live separate lives. As night and day, we present two sides of the coin at once. Regardless of the flip, the winner is still us. We don’t care about them right now. We are frustrated and preoccupied. As we turn inside, we realize that together we have created a cycle of emotion which must be broken. We cannot continue to live dual lives. We can remove the mask of our identity, but it would reveal nothing not already known. A name is a leash, we have none. We live and we breathe. We are me.





I know many countries are going through this. Close your eyes and imagine. Suddenly, your country is split in half. The other half is given a different name. Those people are now your enemies. To speak to them is death. A single family has torn apart a nation. And every time a person from that nation dies… you die inside because that could have been your brother. That might have been your mom, your father, your sister, aunt… someone you loved or lost. You do not get to go to their funeral. You do not hear they even died… until years later. You are about to die… and you cannot visit your home. It is across the line.

Tell someone that lives this that they are overreacting. Tell them they shouldn’t care. See if you live through that conversation.





It has become a melting pot of ideas. The continuous crash of theories and ideals, T-Boning each other in the lane less highway of WordPress. The noise should disturb and confound the senses. Instead the harsh sounds of reality bring forth laughter, excitement, and a fresh feeling of renewal. There are no fireworks, overwhelming feelings of companionship, or nauseous gusts of love in this room.

The doors are open and the horde enters. They are a rugged lot, their talents and experiences range from the wild to the ridiculous. Their stories add to the clamor and fuel the feeling that something is being built. And through it all a single voice can be heard. It is a soft voice in the corner, barely more than a whisper. It seems to repeat the same phrase over and over. The voice is too soft to make out the words clearly. I strain to hear them and drive myself mad in the process. My hand is forced.

I close the door.




The Hill

I buried him in the hills. It was against his will.
His purpose had been served.

I walked back feeling light. Now it sounds a bit trite.
Hate can be a burden.

It fills me suddenly with a passion. Love’s purest fashion.
My rebound emotion is found.

Not as amusing, this love. Drama is missed, no rub.
Perhaps he is still alive on that hill.

-Opinionated Man




I did not kill your father.
I did not murder your people.
I did not steal your land.

You mean nothing to me if we never actually interact.
You ironically mean more to me if you affect me negatively.
You mean less to me if you mean nothing to yourself.

They always have something to say.
They always drink all my beer.
They are never there when “they” are needed.

We are the ones we trust.
We are the ones that care.
We will never be them.




Finding Yourself

The past unknown can be bore,
when no knowledge is had of that which was tore.

When the seal of history is cut,
A piece of your heart can be seen to jut.

From that wound so small, so infinite.
All you knew is surely bent.

Pain deeper than any well,
can surely seem like the fires of hell.

But that pain, that gift, although so small,
Starts the pieces of the puzzle to fall.

That puzzle, the key, to finding yourself,
Is the inner soul’s manna, its being, its health.

That stranger that walks a different life,
with whom you have so much strife.

Your identical twin, your brother, your soul.
Whose relations with you takes its toll.

It is his place you wish to be.
To be able to say, hey this is me.

But his life is not your path to take.
The Gods have rolled their dice, it is their choice to make.

What trials and tribulations each shall endure,
we should rejoice we don’t have more.

Kill the image you wish to be,
Your fate before you never flee.

Until those gates you should climb,
Be glad of the days that you may dine,
On the fruits of life and wine.

Until you dance with death and die,
To spit in the devil’s eye.


Her name is Ruby-Red. She is a tall, normally cold, and she can only be tempted with a glass half full of despair. She is the perfect mix. Two slow pours of hope mixed with a spoon of cynicism creates godly concoctions of delight. She accompanies at night, through screens of smoke or sheets of satin, it matters not. Her taste is forgotten, for when you mix despair with hope what are you left with? Reality, reality and sweet Ruby-Red.

-Opinionated Man


The Wall

He stands tall and strong. Never turning away, he throws his wrath at the problems before him. With all his focus and attention he rights each individual wrong, one at a time. He smiles at his accomplishment and finally turns around.

He faces chaos.





Different You and I

Look at this beautiful thing.

Is that a golden ring?


Yes, I think it is the best ever.

I have seen better.


Not as good as this one!

Sure, I have seen a ton.


You must not like rings.

I like pretty things.

Things are not rings.


We are not the same.

Different backgrounds we came.

Never friends, what a shame.





Her tender kiss you never miss. It’s force is felt within. Never fear, you won’t miss, you will know when it begins. Feel it now, here it comes, a sudden burst of pain. Clarity found, I can see now, knowledge obtained. Never sorry, I am not sorry, it is who I am. Change I must, I must change, father now I am.

-Opinionated Man



Why I add Korean Bloggers

Someone just asked. I had never taken the time to think on it really… it was just natural. Why do I add Korean bloggers… that speak Korean… when I don’t read or speak Korean? Someone inside of me searches still. Even though I stopped caring, that… being… still cares. Maybe she is out there, my sister, Ahn Jung He age 35 Busan, South Korea Busan Orphanage (maybe).




A Life in Slides

I present my life in slides here on my blog. Not because it is fun to tease or that I think I am that important, I just have a lot to tell and a lot to say. Maybe that makes me opinionated. I view my life in slides because for one I don’t have the time to sit down for the whole epic series. That would take a while and feel much like watching the Lord of the Rings “must finish… started this long ass movie… MUST finish!”

If I was any kind of artist I would probably be presenting paintings right now. Had I any skills with a camera, photos. I think my previous post on blogs with context other than writing was misconstrued by some, but that is ok! I see how one could use many forms of media to relay their life, even without words. I would not want to see my life in photos though… rather depressing if you ask me.

A life of slides, the little projector slides they made, remember? That is how my life should be shown when I pass. Or maybe in word, though that might not be appropriate for passing on to my daughters. I wonder how I will leave “myself” when I go. I had never thought of it before now. Thoughts before bed and then to my glass house.

Sleep time,




Cascading, trickling pieces of a dying rainbow fall from the sky.

And like carcasses of dead unicorns, they stay where they lie.

I dance in the rain as it flutters from above.

Closing my eyes I see no death, only love.

Droplets of blood color my face in shame.

Blood mixes with tears and gives birth to blame.

I stop, stand, and wonder why I care.

Why give ourselves to possible pain, why do we dare?




Free Climb

He is halfway up and his arms have begun to burn. His shoulders ache and he begins to wonder at how human he is. He closes his eyes and feels the wind around him. It forms into substantial gusts of power, ever attempting to seperate him from his goal.

He opens his eyes and unlocks the safety clasp on his harness.

The lead rope flies from his grasp as if on wings. He feels a life line leave… the tug of a new life attaching. He is alive.

He begins to climb again. The invigorating emotions leave him feeling fresh and spirited. The company of death makes life that much sweeter.

His free climb has begun and now he knows the meaning of freedom.





Ever churning, ever turning, always burning…

It builds upon itself as it rolls around inside your belly.

It festers without a wound and causes a sour sick feeling to form.

You attempt to spit it out, but all your attempts do is remind you of its presence.

It warms you, fighting battles in your place against cold, fatigue, and even boredom.

For who can bother with those emotions when they are superseded by a tempest within.

A storm of fury that allows nothing to approach or change it.

You scream with agony… with acceptance, and then rejection.

Is your name anger?

No Sir it is not… not today…

-Opinionated Man



My Braveheart Speech

I have always wanted to give a war speech. This one isn’t very good, I am glad it isn’t a real battle or we would lose…

You say that you care and your words water inner desire for future course of action. Do not bare your chest and shout curses at the wind if change is not truly within your purpose. Speak now if you have not the heart for the long journey ahead, for at march’s end we shall not meet friendly hands. Instead, we will be met by scorn and fury to match our own. But our passion will be damped by coming march, so save your anger and turn it inside. Let it burn within and stoke the fires of soul’s forge. Feed off the burning fumes of your heart and give yourself not over to despair. For through the strength found in unity of spirit do we transcend the basic needs of mere mortal beings. Let us go now and show these sons of pigs what real men are made of!

Note: If that last line looks off… that is because it is. I am not very good at soft insults.



Taking up the Shield

A knight takes up his shield to defend. His sword is seen as a symbol of aggression.

Even poor knights must prepare for battle. And so he sets to his task alone as is his normal routine. He has no squire to aid him in donning his armor. He does not care that he has no help, but he hurries for he knows that war waits for no man.

He stands and prepares himself. A warrior of mind, soon to also be a warrior of the body, he places on his lord’s tabard. The piece of cloth offers no protection and yet serves a stronger reminder than any other piece of clothing as to why he fights. His oath is sewn on the front. His life is on the back. Both are placed close to his heart so he knows what he fights for. He can never forget. He puts on his armor and ties the various strings to tighten each part in place.

The fire plays across his sword blade as he holds it aloft in front of him. He measures and examines each edge carefully, and with a frown tests the blade with his finger. Such cold beauty, a bringer of death, it is his hobby and his trade. To deny this is to deny what he is, what he must be. The sword sings as he sheaths it in one quick motion.

The knight reaches next for his shield. He studies the leaping fox on its front, the symbol of his house. The irony is not lost as he feels the bonds of loyalty. This does not sway him from his current course of action, but instead further strengthens his resolve for what is to come. With sword on hip and shield on arm he departs, ready to confront the waiting madness.




A Game of Kings

We are pawns in a game of Kings. The moves that we are forced to make are not for any real gain. Normally they are a feint of misdirection that ends up in sacrifice. The sacrifice is our own, but the choice is never ours. You can feel the hand that grips your waist and pushes you forward against your will. The friction of your feet dragging across the marble floor creates a squeaking sound of denial and regret. We deny that we are not in control, and yet in the same breath we regret having given up the power to determine our own steps.

You were made a pawn. You were born a pawn. This is what the King will always tell his people. Sure, there will be added words of a grandiose sort to inspire and instill confidence in his people. A King has many phrases for that. But instead of by example a King will point and direct death. And while his people are being slaughtered, the King in his wisdom and mercy, will always decide to castle.




Dark Room

He steps in. It is his room of peace and as the door shuts, so closes his connection to the world. The darkness has a warmth to it. Here one need not be ashamed of random thoughts… fleeting fancies of anger, meanness, and even hate. For the shadow can be these things and here you are the shadow. The world need not fear you as long as the door is closed. Inside, you can be whoever you wish to be. Sometimes we need walls and doors to shut off portions of our personality the world does not need to see, does not deserve to see. You might not think to hide your shadow. A moments glance of wandering eye through momentarily opened door can offer release of soul’s closest kept secret. Guard that key closely.

-Opinionated Man


A Quiet Affair

She came to me last night.
Finally she came.
The unexpected encounter without a fight.
I succumbed, I am tamed.

Motionless passion, how I have missed thee.
I am satisfied.
Awaking now, weariness does flee.
How many times did I lie.




He guzzles his happiness from a jar. Standing proudly, he stretches his arms. They wave as flags in triumph, but what has he conquered? Above a darkness swirls and builds.

He cares not for in front if him a sight, a light, a dagger in the night.

They fight. And like a typhoon of shadow and hope they war.

He smiles, for in his pride he thinks this is for him. He knows it could be for no one else. His anticipation of the climax to come overshadows caution. As the jar slowly lifts to his lips his heart stops. It falls… gently dying, forever crying as it shatters on the ground. He stumbles, but catches himself before falling. His hand touches his chest.

He is human again.

He picks up the unopened bottle, opens it, pours it out, and walks away.





He paws at the door, wanting inevitable release.

You take your slow time getting up, oh what a tease.

Outside the sun shines and slays the snow.

He looks up with curiosity, does he know?

You unlock the door, freedom is suddenly here.

He darts towards the opening with no fear!

And as his first feet grace the deck floor,

Joy bubbles forth, all he wants is more.

A glint of light suddenly catches your eye.

At first you brush it off, an annoyance like a fly.

But as recognition slowly begins to come.

You spring to action at a run!

And slowly, as if stuck in time, it begins to fall.

A perfect dagger of ice that you never saw.

Sometimes events are perfect in tragedy.

He never saw it coming, nor had the chance to flee.





Devious, I can see your heightened sense of worth.

You push your pawns forward claiming turf.

And like a brash commander, you over extend.

Never knowing that I already see the end.

You contemplate, tapping your chin in thought.

Or perhaps you are internally praying, an answer sought.

You think one move at a time, cute.

I have already played the game twice, there is no dispute.

Checkmate is in ten moves, begin the cadence.

Sorry, your time in this match has been spent.

-Opinionated Man



Feeling Poetic

Maybe it is the coming snow, or my fourth Modelo.
That drunken jester of fun returns.

And sitting here, I smile with good cheer.
As my song of word that burns.

Wide eyed is I, as I wonder why.
These bloggers do appear.

Perhaps they love the bitter slaps of glove.
As gauntlets challenge fears.

Place me above any other love.
Your reward you shall have.

Wonders of mind and riches you find.
Never shall you leave sad.








Something different…

We must turn our thoughts to common course and find similar path to dealing with enemies. Quietly may we slumber in the night, yet with the coming day problems troop in upon fresh feet. Where may respite be found from the continuous torrent of the world’s problems and issues? Our voices rise in anger, a mob’s demeanor is found quickly, as singular cause is raised upon banner’s head. And as we march forth, resolve strengthened by a rise in numbers, we take comfort in knowing we are not alone. The steady stamp of feet in time with our own forges a bond not found within familial ties. Unity may not have such lofty words as “nation and country” to aid it, but rather has been fastened with the strength found in the word “humanity.” Let those that share not our same ideals of goodness and righteousness fall from the light and embrace their own path. For surely such a path might lead nowhere else but towards the darkened abyss. And as they scream their never-ending screams of agony and regret, we shall smile and reflect upon the justice done for those three above.

-Opinionated Man



Frozen Tree

Alone, you stand strong frozen in time.
The light of the night and the nearby street light,
Shine your shadow above your kind.
Above a young soul in flight…

You wave your leafy hands in farewell.
As your feet stamp the door of hell.
Whispers of a name, who can tell?
Frozen again, sleep, a dreamless well.

-Opinionated Man



The Sign

It stands alone on a nameless street. All but forgotten, and yet still it stays. Guiding, giving direction, doing what it is meant to do. It sits in the cold, the rain, the hot summer days when it’s metal edges begin to bend. It has formed some rust, I am sure no denial would be found if that remark were given. It has done the job that was meant for it, without a single word of thanks. We should be glad it does not require thanks to work. And still I see it even today, even when I don’t want to.

The Crowd

So many faces, how many of them are real? I see so many people with their own voices. Voices filled with curiosity, anger, amusement, sadness, despair, and many other emotions felt by those in the darkness. The darkness is anyone outside my own circle of light; it does not mean those people are in a worse place… it just means they are not within my area of concern. Until they step into my own light they do not hold my concern. This is how I differentiate between who is important and who is not. Why should I waste my time and effort on people that are in the darkness, the outskirts of my domain? I do not care.

They press their faces at the window.

“Who is this guy?”

“Why does he write the way he does?”

“Why does he think his words are so important!?!”

“Who the hell does he think he is?”

I hear the questions muttered in the crowd. I turn the knob and the noise quiets. I smile because it is that simple for me, and yet those voices are really still at the same level. Those faces are still pressed against the glass. I glance at them occasionally; I would be a fool to say that their presence doesn’t affect me. Their eyes seem fixated, some with curiosity, others with encouragement, and even some with jealousy. They are part of the landscape. I do not water them with tears.



It beats. And as you feed it food and thoughts, it grows and forms before you. Ever evolving, ever enlarging, it soon feeds off the emotions surrounding it. Like a whirlwind it forces those around to be pushed and pulled in every direction. It does not care anymore what harm might come, because it does not abide by your rules. You created it, you gave it birth, and now it is free.

It breathes a sigh of relief, a release of tension brought upon by the breaking of bonds placed by others, possibly by you. Like a convict taking his first step of freedom, it has discovered the same joyous feeling of escape. But what other feelings does it also like? What has it grow to love? You can no longer know these things; control has been lost to you. And like the spectator that you are, you can only watch and hope that you have guided it enough. Given it enough love to offset the tempest that is forming in front of you.


I love Friday

Did I mention that I now have Fridays and Saturdays off? Also Thursday as well. I have never had Friday off before so it is a big deal, retail and restaurants are unfortunately open during times of happiness. I missed out because I was slaving in some kitchen for what amounted to a bag of rice and a fortune cookie. Ok I am exaggerating… what I was going to say was we took the girls to see Frozen! It was a great movie. Call me crazy but I love musicals. Remember that old movie Newsies, man I wanted to be in that movie so bad… wow I am everywhere. I lost my glass of wine…



People Are Stupid, You Are Dumb

People never cease to amaze me. They troll, write long ass posts calling you out, write fake reviews to bring your dreams down, and then… they fucking come back daily to read your posts!!! I just don’t get it. Someone, anyone, explain this to me. Why the hell keep going back to a website you proclaim to hate?

Why do I keep this site public? They don’t deserve to read my words. Maybe that is the answer… you are what you think you are worth.

I will no longer allow people to troll or spam my blog. Even if that means deleting multiple comments like I just did. Get a life.



Thank you!

Opinionated Man:

I am glad you are safe and well Linda. -OM

Note: Comments disabled.



Originally posted on lindaghill:

Greetings all!

Just a short note for now to say thank you so much to all of you for the well-wishes and the concern over my well-being these past few days. I seem to be on the road to recovery, and happily the road is no longer as slippery. Luckily I have insurance through the newspaper – I was delivering when I fell down a customer’s steps – and so after seeing a doctor and having the proper forms filled out, I don’t have to deliver the papers again until Friday. The concussion was mild.

I’d like to send out a very special thank you to the amazing Navigator for guest posting for me and helping out with Every Damn Day December, with his wonderfully amusing posts. If you haven’t already, you should go and visit him at http://navigator1965.wordpress.com/

He has written a fantastic book, The Mirror, Book One: Welcome…

View original 44 more words


I have the greatest idea ever. Why don’t we make giant machines made out of plastic and metal and allow moronic humans to get in them and drive around at 100 mph! What do you mean someone already came up with this invention?!?

I am starting to think the driving test in Colorado is simply to put your name on a form. The people in this state suck at driving. I seriously think they consider the lines on the road “suggestions” and that they aren’t really there for a purpose. The most frightening scenario to me, other than driving around Denver after the Broncos lose, is to come to a four way stop and it actually has three other cars at it. The look of bewilderment and confusion on all the other faces is the equivalent of hearing “suspenseful music” during a horror movie. You just know shit is about to go down. I can almost see their thoughts “oh my god, what do I do, when do I go?”

I may simply stop driving. I think they should have upgradable levels for drivers. All drivers would start in a smart car or a Prius that is set to a 50 MPH maximum speed. As people get older, yes I consider age a factor in all this, they would be allowed to test for the next level of license and the ability to “go fast!” I would also bring back parallel parking tests. If you take six times to adjust your automobile and you look over and see an Asian guy staring at you that is me and YES I am definitely calling you every possible bad name I can think of. If my kids are in the car it is being done mentally.