D.B.Tarpley's Amazing Ass Blog-8/7/18

“Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.”

Henry Wordsworth Longfellow

Greetings and salutations people and peoplettes,

There is always sadness in the act of ending. Ending something you have created, be it a book, a song, or a relationship always brings about a feeling of great sadness and loss. Even though the overall intent of the endeavor is to ultimately get through it so that you have something to show for your actions, it is still always sad to finally let something go.

Sometimes I look back on what I have written and say, “Wow, that was really incredible.” (I almost spelled the word ‘increadable’ and nearly kept it because you know what, it kind of fits.) Sometimes I re-read what has been written and say, “What the hell was going through my mind at that particular moment and time.”

“You must learn to overcome your very natural and appropriate revulsion for your own work.”

William Gibson

Thank you so much for taking an interest in me and my work. I am like any other struggling artist: full of grand dreams and ideas with limited means. But it is not all about commercial success. I love to write. It helps me a great deal. And I will continue to write as long as I have something to say. As long as one person reads my material and gets something out of it… that is payment enough.

It is with some sadness that I take a small break from writing now. But the writing bug has burrowed deep down in my soul and my demons have not even begun to be exorcized. I will begin writing again, and soon. Perhaps it will be another collection of short stories. Perhaps it will be another novel. Maybe a screenplay. Who knows?

All I know is that the words will come. I have a million ideas in my head waiting to get out. ‘Dry’ has never really been an issue. ‘Lazy’ is of course another story. So if you know me and see nothing coming out fast enough, just give me a gentle prod every once in a while. Slap my ass when I walk by, that will get my attention.

This project, this year, has improved me. It has made me a stronger person. I think it has made me a better writer… maybe not a good writer yet, but definitely a better one. It is my goal to become a good writer and I feel that the journey toward that land will never end. I hope this makes you happy. As long as you are reading, I will be writing.

Ah who am I kidding? I already have my next 3 books started. I can’t stop writing, I won’t stop writing. There will be no end to the madness I will soon thrust upon the world. I’m crazy I tell you. My shrink told his therapist who I advise on occasion so I have reason to believe it’s true.

“Girl you know it’s true!!!”

Didn’t see my lips move did ya?

Thank you again for allowing my words to enter your head. There is so much noise these days, so many options. It makes me happy that you have chosen me as one of yours. Thank you for letting me in. And hopefully, a part of me will stay with you for a long time. Hopefully some of my ideas and notions fester in your brain, like an infected inner boil oozing with corruption. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to corrupt you.

I give you now this one simple thought; the only way to do something is to do it. You can take that and do what you will. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t. All I know is that as I trudge my way across this wasteland of indecision the only way is to keep putting one foot in front of the other. As hopeless as that sometimes may seem, one foot in front of the other will always get you there.

“And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”

Sylvia Plath

Perspective is everything.

I rarely, if ever, try to change any of the words… these words I have written.

The words of the past are cemented in stone. Once I put my stamp on them and call them done, then that is the way they will always be. Sometimes that makes me sad but it always feels right. It can be no other way. ‘THE END’ will always be ‘THE END’.

It has to be.

Everything happens in spurts in life; quick like a flash in the pan.

Love.

Hate.

Joy.

Pain.

“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”

Cyril Connolly

And so here we find ourselves again dear reader, at the end of yet another long and arduous journey through the recesses of my blatantly fucked up mind. And in the end it is all nothing more than so many gentle yet firmly placed kisses expediently applied to your quivering, yet supple body.

Or is that simply it?

These tales are random and all over the map but surely there is some connective tissue… some subtext which may elevate them to a level above water cooler prattle. Or maybe they are nothing more than compiled rubbish. This is the question we have to ask ourselves every time we finish a collective piece of anything. I can tell you what I think these simple ramblings are but I think it is better for each and every one of you to make that decision for yourselves.

I leave the short form now to move on to longer works. It is a fearful endeavor but one I feel I must take as simple expected progression. I am not gone for good. I intend to return in rapid fashion to what I consider the most satisfying of the written forms, the short story. But depart I must and ‘must’ be now.

I hope you stick with me through the changes I, and indeed every artist with any semblance of longevity, must inevitably take. I promise that wherever I take my craft I will endeavor to deliver gleeful entertainment pure and simple, for at my core I am and will forever be a simple story teller. I am lucky enough to have a conduit to some place, some when, some where, which you can scarcely imagine. This is what I have to offer. It is simple and it is sweet and it will forever be my gift to you.

Thank you again for your patronage and I will always aim to please. I write for myself but you are forever present in my mind as the process unfurls. You are my other self. Without you I am lost.

We are all lost without each other.

"I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper."

Steve Martin

We only have 20 more tomes left to experience together before I disappear forever into the nether. I sincerely hope that we get the chance to do so. The words are not an issue, only the time it takes to layer them line after line until they form some shape of recognizable substance. And of course life… how can we forget about life; that pesky nuisance forever getting in the way… that eternal bane… that gerflunkengeganschlaggen.

I, for some reason, began this with an extra special effort toward crisp, clean speech. I realize that sometimes my vocabulary can lean into the blue zone and I do not want to only be known for such. I had an inkling to begin this with ‘Yo-yo-yo and a bottle of cum’ for some weird reason and immediately cried foul. For starters, as it is a take on the pirate cry ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum’ there is no reason to change the second and third ho’s to yo’s. It perhaps offers too messy a presentation for those who like their satire in nice neat chunks. And second, and not least, having a drinkable bottle of cum would be a feat in and of itself. Any semen which sits around for any discernable length of time will inevitably crust and dry into an extremely non-drinkable state. Perhaps if it were bull semen freshly collected from several readily available studs corralled directly behind the bar. Which would of course take severe coordination by several collection specialists to get the various orgasms… orgasmi… orgasmuses… to occur as close together as possible; all the while hoping the concussive force of the molten penis volcanos didn’t break out the bottom of the bottle. Of course the collected product would be steaming, chunky and incredibly hard to swallow, smelling of raw nutsac and rolling taint sweat. It would spill out the corners of your mouth and draw slow snail trails down the sides of your face as it followed the curvature of your skin to eventually vanish beneath the collar of your shirt, slowly coming to a crusty halt across your tender nipples. You would probably have to chew it to get it down… go ahead, I’ll give you a second to think about that. And you would have to do it fast because the cooler it got the worse it would taste… cold, salty, congealed porridge.

So as you see, I had good reason to not discuss this in any way, shape or form. I used my head and exercised good sense. Because damn it all if you people don’t deserve better. That is what I will always try to be… better.

“I never pretend to be the best writer in the world, only my favorite.”

D.B.Tarpley

As long as that is the case I will keep writing the stories I want to read. I hope you have dug at least a few of the words I have strung together for you in the preceding pages as much and I have dug… diggen… dugged… stringing them together for you.

“Honest criticism is hard to take, particularly from a relative, a friend, an acquaintance, or a stranger.”

Franklin Jones

(I just have to remember that you don’t love me anymore.)

Being OK with that statement takes more strength than I have some days. That is ultimately what ‘THE END’ means. It is the loss of love. It is the loss of joy. It is the end of the story. And if the story was really good that can be a very painful experience.

Sure you can revisit the tale at a later date, but it will never be as good as the first time you read it. You want it to never end.

But it must.

And the beautiful thing about that is that there are other stories. You may think that there will never be a story as good as this one, but mark my words, there always is. That is life. There is always more goodness out there to be discovered. Of course, all these good things will end too. That is just the way.

“No tale is so good… but can’t be spoilt in the telling.”

Terence, 160BC

Sometimes the story tells more about the man than the man tells about the story. It is in the words between the lines which some readers catch and some readers don’t. My work has a lot of words between the lines; some subtle, some not. But I have no illusions that I am a great writer. I am simply content to have my work be readable.

I want to write something you are sad to see end.

I know my limitations.

“Some men are born mediocre, some men achieve mediocrity, and some men have mediocrity thrust upon them.”

Joseph Heller

My greatest fear, mediocrity.

There is no Hell greater in my eye than to be just another guy; just another pointless excuse for existence with no valid argument to the contrary. I am not a Carbon Dioxide machine. I refuse to be.

My words are soundless screams halfheartedly thrust out into the world for your perusal. There are not many of you I know. And my thoughts and ideas are no greater than any of yours. In the end they are all so much shit I suppose. But at least there is that. At least it is there for someone to judge. At least I have put something there. At least I have come to the end.

Most people never make it here… this final page. Many start, but so few end these days. It is a sad thing I do, but at least I have the balls to go through with it. I have the balls to see it to the end.

I don’t worry about bad reviews. The only review which is valid is my own. Every word is from me, to me. The words between the lines are for someone else. They are for the end. They are for that bottomless pit which can never again be filled inside of me. They are for the absence of love.

There are never enough words.

I will always be my harshest critic. I will always call my own bullshit. I will always see ‘THE END’ for what it is… an opportunity to get to the next ‘END’ in line. All life for me from day to day is a never ending line of ‘END’s. And if my ‘END’s ever come to an end then I will have truly done something special.

And in the end isn’t that all any of us are trying to do.

All this shit.

Finished.

Ended.

Finally.

I for one will be glad to see the day.

Peace, love, and cunnilingus to all.

Leave the pages bloody.

And have an amazing ass day.

Sincerely,

D.B.Tarpley