Invisible

Bill Jones, Jr.:

A poem, from M, for Blog Action Day

Originally posted on Diary of a Person Being Human:

Invisible Me

I am not black.

I am the wrong shade of white.

I speak with no accent,

Yet people shout at me,

To help clarify their words.

My hair is too dark,

My nose is too hooked.

I am too female,

So my mind must be faulty.

I am too small, too short, too young,

Therefore I must know less.

I am not feminine enough,

I use masculine words,

I must be a threat,

Unfriend, delete, deny access, exterminate!

I am invisible,

Yet everybody notices these things.

But what they don’t see,

Is Me.

*In participation of Blog Action Day. If you would like to participate, register your site via the link provided. Remember also to include ‘inequality’ in your tags.

View original

Grace y los Naguales

Featured Image -- 6287

Bill Jones, Jr.:

The book is no longer available, but this snippet is.

Originally posted on Just Me:

This is my from favorite chapter from Awakening, my most emotional book. I won’t explain the context of the scene; you’ll have to read the book. I promise you’ll like it if you do.

Grace crouched in her seat, still peering at Charlie, then, ever-so-slowly, rose up, her knees against the seat back and leaned forward. Instinctively, Charlie himself leaned forward as Grace did, both kids moving at the speed of a drowsy slug. As they grew closer, now almost nose-to-nose, Charlie’s forced smile became genuine, and his dimples deepened to their full depths. Grace, for the first time, burst out in a rapturous smile of her own, and stuck one index finger in each dimple.

Robin laughed out loud, then immediately clapped her hand to her mouth. No one had heard her but Grace, who looked at her with a huge grin. “I do that all the time,” Robin…

View original 1,211 more words

Final thoughts for the day – 8-9 October 2014: Dopamine Addicts

Bill Jones, Jr.:

Part 2: Is Art Its Own Reward?

Originally posted on Diary of a Person Being Human:

MeAs an artist the most significant thing someone could say to me is that I inspire them through my work, or the expression of my particular art. The thing with that kind of validation, is that it becomes addictive. With every new expression of your art you need new validation of your ability to inspire. Art only becomes art when exchanged and shared with others, as the definition of something as art can only come from comparison and trend established in agreement with others.

To ever consider myself a lonely artist is erroneous, because in calling myself an artist at all is an adherence to an already widely accepted notion of what art is supposed to be, and realising that this is essentially a social endeavour that requires participation of more  than just myself. If I the ‘artist’ do something just for me, then surely I am merely being myself as…

View original 586 more words

The Incompatibility of the Extraordinary Artist

Featured Image -- 6270

Bill Jones, Jr.:

Part 1: The Artists’ Dilemma

Originally posted on Just Me:

I stumbled across an interesting article, “The Alienation of Extraordinary Experiences,”by Tom Jacobs in Pacific Standard. In short, it cites three studies that find while people get an initial rush from extraordinary experiences, these experiences in turn cause then to be separated socially from their peers, and in the long run, instead of feeling special, they feel left out.

Now, we can make exceptions for the Narcissist. They will blather on ad naseum about their “great holiday” and inundate their peers with details never realizing how it separates them socially. But for the rest of us, while friends may be initially delighted at your two-week trip to France, they will likely spend more time talking to their peers who slaved away in their work holes.

“You got a sunburn on the beach at the Rivera? That’s nice. Wish I could do that,” they say. Then, they proceed…

View original 693 more words

No Más

Featured Image -- 6268

Originally posted on Just Me:

While I’m busy cleaning up loose ends and failed endeavors, I’ve decided to withdraw all of my books from publication, effective immediately. I’m tired of swimming upstream against a tide of indifference. I’ve gotten a few rejects from agents, but that’s not the reason. I honestly don’t give a damn what an agent thinks. I don’t write what others write and I don’t like to read what others read. As such, my books will never be mainstream in my life. Novels all follow the same formulas within their appointed genres and those books bore the hell out of me.

I bought Gone Girl, best-seller and hot movie. Hated it. Why? The author purposely made all of the characters unlikable. In most of my work, most of the characters are likeable. I won’t spend even an hour of my time with someone, even a fictional someone, that I don’t like. I…

View original 185 more words

Letters for my Little Sister | A collection of letters

Bill Jones, Jr.:

A collection of letters on aging and menopause, gathered by my dear friend, Cecilia Gunther.

Originally posted on Melissa I. Hassard:

“Her little sister is so lucky,” says my 10-year-old daughter, earlier this evening, as I was explaining one of Sable Books’ latest releases to our beloved piano teacher.  As I got home, I realized I hadn’t shared it with all of you.

letters_for_my_little_sisterLetters for my Little Sister began as a real letter — one that Cecilia Gunther had begun to write to her younger sister as a way to help with navigating the journey of aging and menopause. Their mother had died when they were young, you see, and there had been no one to really turn to to ask questions about this stage of their lives, and while Cecilia had been old enough to have observed their mother some, the memories were scarce.  And there was really no one else around to give them this very personal advice.

She realized the taboo and silence around the subject of menopause, (“even typing…

View original 403 more words