Category Archives: Archived Articles


“There was a time when I would have traded my life for a glass of scotch. Not a “good” glass either, just something that contained instant gratification and the ability to remove me from the moment. The problem with life is that when you run from a certain moment you begin to keep running. Before you know it you haven’t run from one moment, you have run from half of your life.”

Jason Chandler Cushman

-Opinionated Man


Who is Next?

Who will we say goodbye to next? As bloggers fold their tents quietly in the morning before the setting of inspiration has hit the blogosphere. Their absence is noted in the ever changing skyline that is WordPress, a land many of us travel to daily. We scroll through endless layers of fonts and shared passions all the while searching for our own inspiration of the day. And sometimes that inspiration is found not by the finding, but by the recognition of the lack thereof.  Missing words of kindness we read daily, a gravatar that never changes but suddenly is just missing. Vanished into the void that stands between the written and the deleted. How often does that same void wipe away the existence of someone we have grown to care about? Someone who one day lives vibrantly through their shared expressions online and suddenly one day they vanish. Leaving nothing but a 404 behind.



Maybe the Best Comment of the Year



Rate This

I’ve blogged on other platforms, in one space in particular, there was/is whole sale bullying going on especially when a blogger is deemed “popular” this brings out all the little green eyed monsters in force.

They range from telling how you should blog on your space
They write snide blog posts about you, and of course the drama seekers slavishly follow every word.

They report you often for some minor offence, usually it’s because in reading your blog that they hate! they find some subliminal message that your writing about them, and are “offended”

If they are blocked from your blog, their friends read it and report back, therefore much gnashing of teeth until they find another way to complain and and from the safety of their blogs attack yours, but that’s ok because they’re being “honest” and are “REAL WRITERS”

Another aspect is that it draws people to your blog who wish to be “offended” haha (how sad people are.

They never seem to understand that this basic truth, if you don’t like what your reading, then DON’T, unfollow immediatley and go back to your own corner of the blogsphere.

Lastly the reason I rarely block anyone well 2 reasons firstly, they then complain that they were only being “honest” and your being childish in blocking them (you see their logic)

Secondly many of them(trolls) create “Sock Puppet” accounts and continue to read your blog under a different name and the nonsense continues, (I would love to have their time management skills, because I don’t have time for that kind of crap)

The self appointed “BLOGERATTI” are everywhere and there is nothing you can do about them, except continue as you are, it’s your space.

Sorry for long comment.


I couldn’t agree more with this comment. It really is a damned if you do and damned if you don’t scenario. I get everything you are saying. I get bashed for responding to people or NOT responding to people. If someone writes a post about me and I write a “rebuttal post” I am labeled as overly sensitive and a “bully” because I have more subscribers than they do and that isn’t fair. When I block someone it is because “they were telling it like it is” and “once again that OM can’t handle anyone with a differing opinion.” It really all gets old as shit and like you said, nothing really can prevent it. They find ways around things and constantly report your blog. I also agree that people will far too often “assume” something is about them because they are just SO IMPORTANT and everything you say revolves around them because how could it not be? You are everything to them… so the same must be said in reverse right? Pathetic…



You lay upon a plain of snow so white. I moment framed in glaring red to match your Scarlet gown. You are a mistake or an action made… simply a reaction to the emotion of the moment. Your beauty shattered like a snow flake, body laying like a symbol of the past. Or are you instead the very essence of hate and for that your passing is justified…

Scarlet, slowly covered now by the frozen tears from above. Falling pieces of guilt to bury you from sight. Do not fear the end, fear the how. A scarlet snowflake in the field.


Writing is My Life

Writing is my life, but unfortunately I must die a little doing other things each day as well…



Daily Denver


Daily Denver



am I an afterthought to an action. An expression to a regret or a regret to an expression. Would it matter if you adorned me with a name, but never owned me. Never claimed me in the night like every night that I waited and still wait. One eye to the door expecting it to open and the other to life and knowing you will never come. Silent steps will always be silent. Steps of my dreams where they and you will always remain.


Finding “time” for blogging

Often bloggers, authors, writers, and people will claim they don’t have “time” for blogging. I’ve found that people often have far more time than they realize. People are just incredibly lazy and want “something” for nothing. You create the blog it doesn’t create itself for you.



Have I ever missed your comment?



New Blog Name

This will be the new name of my blog going forward. I had my little fun. I appreciate everyone that is handling this transition so well. You are all winners. All happy people here. :)




New Peaceful Tagline in place.


So some of you know

I felt no need to keep up two posts from yesterday, but at least some people know the why. And I guess that matters? Maybe a little?


That is one happy bunny…


Happy Is



Will I waste away writing nothing or finally write something to be proud of. That she will be proud of.

WordPress Meet and Greet – All Bloggers Welcome

Well this is the third post I have done like this so far and I have seen some great connections. I’ll keep doing these off and on and I think they provide a great way for “active bloggers” to network. This post now has over 2,000 active bloggers waiting to connect in it. I encourage anyone looking for new blogs to view or people to converse with to browse through the comment section and network.

Continue reading →

The God Killer

You stand proud and sure of your own worth. The knowledge and intellect that you have you use for your own understanding. You seek answers even when answers are given. Always curious, nothing is safe from your scrutiny. You argue and laugh seemingly without mercy. You list your reasons and you hold to your convictions. You do not need man, woman, or child telling you what to believe. Dusty books and literature hold no meaning. There is no truth but the one that you uncover. You have heard man’s thoughts, let them hear yours. You are the God Killer.


Memories 1… 2… 3… and another

Those things we do. I have many vivid memories of obvious mistakes I have made in my life. Some were major and others minor. I suppose my project has put me in a reflective mood, so I thought I would share a few.

“You want my autograph?” – I remember hearing my name. “Jason!!! COME UPSTAIRS NOW!!!” I of course proceeded to climb those stairs as slowly as possible. You never want to rush into things you know are a bad situation and anytime you hear your mom use that high pitched, shrill sounding voice you know shit has literally hit the fan. Like any other seven year old I had a number of things I “thought” she might be angry at, but I wouldn’t know what it actually was till I saw her. “Did you write in sharpie on your brother’s window sill” my mother immediately asked upon my arrival. I did what any other boy my age would have done. I lied. “Nope, wasn’t me…” I said confidently. “THEN WHY DOES IT SAY YOUR NAME?” Oh… oops…

Betrayal At Krondor – This was my favorite PC game as a kid and it was light years ahead of other rpg games! Unfortunately at the age of 14 I did not have a PC of my own… this was back in 1995 in case you were curious. I solved this problem by formatting my mother’s hard drive so it would fit the 9 hard disks required for downloading the game. How was I to know that format meant – remove forever! I remember thinking at the time, while being yelled at, that it was a serious flaw to place a self-destruct button on a machine that was so valuable.

Dogwoods in Memphis – The first home we lived in on Stonewall had two beautiful dogwoods in the front yard. They were a kid’s dream for climbing and also beautiful to behold once their blossoms opened. I thought at the time that it was a shame that the only thing ugly on that tree was the bark. So I decided to peal it off. I was probably around the age of 8 and I was so proud to show my parents what I had done. It became apparent I had made some type of miscalculation from the look of horror on my mother’s face. My father was furious… it wasn’t like I had cut down a cherry tree or something. In my defense those trees survived and no one ever hugged those branches for dear life like I did.

“Dude Jason… I think we had a wreck…” – We were driving home from Nashville after a night of partying when I fell asleep at the wheel. It had never happened before, but fortunately this time I didn’t hit a car. What I did do was tear up five yards of guard rail, hit a bridge column, and the car ended up catching fire and being destroyed. Did I mention that it happened to be Father’ Day morning and it was possibly my dad’s car…

“Well that doesn’t fit… dammit!!!” – Recently I have discovered I suck at home repairs. I should not be allowed to do them. I decided to surprise my wife by switching out the back sliding door handle with a locking handle instead. Well it helps if you look inside and see what type of door it is. Unfortunately I tried to put a normal lock on a latch handle opening. For those that don’t know, that is kind of like the square peg in the round hole scenario. Needless to say, my wife was pretty pissed at the large hole I had drilled for the handle that didn’t fit.


This site

WoW it is ugly. I’m allowed to say that right?

The theme said “open and appealing” so I thought I’d go with it. If I have to suffer you have to suffer.


Slay me

Slay me into the night, in the night, and by the night we die. I sigh a sigh that only I can hear. My emotion pushes me to write, but what? Can I pick and choose the words of my soul? Dividing what is worth saying like a shepherd in the night. Weighing and measuring if offense is seen in word strings… is this a job I wish to take. Could I convey myself in such flowery language that a person must borrow a muse to ascertain my meaning, yes I could. I wrote college papers for a few years and they weren’t always mine.

In Loving Memory

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.

I never knew her story till later on, after she had gained my friendship. Sad that I think of it that way, her gaining my friendship, when in the end I couldn’t have been more honored to have hers instead. 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 definitely 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 loving memory.




Half done. Has to be done.




I look down at my feet to understand that I stand in the moment. Thoughts that feel as heavy as pillars turn out to be pebbles of my mind. Could I still the voice of my desire that thrives to hear my keyboard click. Could I stop being me.


Have you published a book lately?

Feel free to share your book with us below. Include how we can buy the book, a link always helps. :)




Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 55,640 other followers

%d bloggers like this: