Somewhere Between One And Zero

November 10, 2016

cropped-13977_792057887481995_1808920394835404646_n.jpgSomewhere in between one and zero, between the loser and the hero, feeling out of place.

Yeah it’s my fault but can you feel my disgrace?

So I’m told it’s me, then it never becomes truth, all the while I stand here waiting and now that I’m done just contemplating I can’t see it no more.

Misery dashed with me at manic, down and dirty feeling panic why I had to destroy…why I could not just enjoy.

Really despise I have another regret, something else to use when my mind begins to fret.

So please God next time/someday can I be one and not zero? Can I find a place in this space to be their hero?

And I can’t help but feel the good things never born, why did someone so beautiful have to be full of thorns?

-Thomas Spychalski



Wise Thought of the Day #6

September 6, 2016


“Out of all the treasures we seek in life, there is nothing so precious or so scarce as reciprocated romantic love.”


Wise Thought of the Day # 5

August 8, 2016


“One of the reasons behind true kinship and affection is that every person is kind of like a mixed drink.

You can always find another drink of that type but the magic is in the mixture.

Some are made weaker, some are made too strong, but sometimes you find one made ‘just right. ‘”


Of Roots & Fractals

August 6, 2016


Throwing this out there and it was inspired by this writing prompt on Reddit.

Bob admittedly felt strange as he awoke on that Sunday morning, staring at the blue sky from his bed in his tiny one bedroom apartment, the bright sunlight forcing his eyes and his mind under the covers to try and regroup.

It felt like he got no rest at all, even though he had gotten into the habit of sleeping as much as possible, because it was better to be blissfully asleep rather than think about how lonely and isolated he was every single day of his life.

His eyes burned and his body ached as if he had been on a bender and then proceeded to start a fight in which the odds must have plainly been against him. Bob had vague recollections of a strange dream, of hands reaching out and a voice that kept telling him he had one last chance.

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Love of Any Kind

August 1, 2016

wooden heartI’m sitting here in the deep dark black,

wondering if I’ll ever get back again…

Riding on a wave of self sorrow,

Yesterday and tomorrow I deny a friend.


A world on the brink of disaster,

Eroding faster and faster in dirt….

Collectively being so broken,

hatred being a token born of hurt.


Yet through all of the darkened thoughts above,

The only way out comes back to simple love.

And all the peacemakers shake their minds,

and the bastards of war break their spines…


On thoughts of love, be it yours or mine,

it always comes back to love of any kind.

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This is All Your Fault…

July 8, 2016


Orlando, Dallas, Columbine, Aurora..the disgusting list that continues to go on and on into darkness, the killing of innocents and the social unrest that always follows such horrid incidents and do you know who is to blame for this?

You are.

Yes you, sitting there on your laptop, eating lunch while browsing on your mobile phone, all of you are to blame for these things, every single one of them.

Got your attention?

Good, I also used a picture of a cat, just to be sure.

Now before you get out the torches and pitchforks, let me explain and like all good internet opinion piece fodder, we will start with a related anecdote from my own life.

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The Man With the Straw Heart

January 7, 2016

163628_184781778209612_7680246_nThere once was a man with a straw heart who loved the people around him more then he could fathom and certainly more then he wanted to most of the time.

He saw their attachment to the material world, saw how they cared more for personal gain and trinkets then the people around them and although it filled him with fire, fire enough to burn his straw heart for only a moment at a time, and then he forgave them.

The man watched as love and friendship were tossed aside on arbitrary conditions of survival no longer needed, saw them cling to damp perverted animal skins like the caveman clung to the torch to scare away the night and sighed.

For him his love of the world was a mystery; to him the world was cold as ice, no one wanted to know him, no one could get close to the toxic strands that fell from his straw heart, weeping like a wound.

In reality this was only his love of all around him pushing the infection out, cleansing it and protecting the gift he had, which was the gift ever boy receives but a ‘man’ soon forgets.

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