Lost Without Pencils

I want to write something meaningful,
Profound, personal, and Honest.
I want to write in pictures and keep readers interested.
I need to write everyday
and I try.
But trying is bullshit.
Doing is Everything.

I want to reach people
and give them a part of me.
I want to reach them because I feel connected
I feel I need to share that feeling, that need,
that desire, that craving to connect
through my only good thing,
the only thing I feel good at

Writing

You can't force inspiration
and when it comes you must harness it like you life
Depended on it.
Because it does
It truly does
People who don't create do not understand
what it feels like to battle your art.
and they assume writer's block is an excuse
(it fuckin' Is)
but you're not supposed to say it.
Only us who write can say that truth.

Positive Feedback just published their 09 Writers Choice Awards - PLS check out my choices: http://ping.fm/Uc18b

I had so much fun writing this review: http://ping.fm/3m2WX JHAudio JH-13 in-ear headfones - U gotta hear em!!

PLS check out My review of Gibbard & Farrar's "One Fast Move or I'm Gone: Kerouac's Big sur" album: http://ping.fm/fpiIo

Listening to Jay Farrar & Ben Gibbard's "One Fast Move or I'm Gone" & LOVIn it. See the documentary ASAP: http://ping.fm/8VrLs

A Ship of Friends

Fifteen years,
and not a moment
has passed

or weakened
or shattered
or Diluted

Honest feelings of love
and Respect

Old Soul Love

The stuff of friendship
unspoken, felt
and Not forgotten.

and Graciousness
for Every moment
disintegrating into
our Collective journey.

A feeling of Home,
far away
yet always nearby.

Solace
in mind and body.
Warmth,
in the presence of Family

the family you meet,
sharing no blood of veins.
Blood let through
Love and Pain

Together

No Title - ol skool poem of mine... resurfaced

Exchanging mindless thoughts
beneath a moon lit sky.

Foamy water chasing man-o-wars
across the slanted shoreline.

Meanwhile nightcrabs are having
their evening feast.

Love exchanged through drunken smiles
and burping laughter.


and Budda.


He was there too....


written by: Michael Mercer (sometime in the early 90's - wrote it about me and my good friend Tim sitting on a beach in Jupiter, Florida, after a long night of partying).