Sit. Think. Write.

Sometimes when I write either a part of the novel or some daring slam poetry, I think of something so obtuse that I lose immediate focus on everything around me. I’m not too sure if this is healthy or not but I think most people experience symptoms of this thinking game in some fashion or another.

The game of focusing has always amazed me because when I was a younger guy, I used to try to focus on everything around me, which was futile at best. I don’t think my brain could comprehend everything at once and with such eccentricity around me, I don’t think anyone could. The only thing I knew is that learning how to truly focus on something was a lot harder than it looked and it wasn’t just simply looking at something for more than 30 seconds.

Like the other day.

I’m sitting in Panera listening to Norah Jones, and staring into a laptop screen which out of nowhere, the laptop’s screen suddenly changes form and I am back home playing in the neighborhood with the guys. I am fighting over “Who’s It?” then having my first sexual experience, then graduating from high school, but just as soon as those memories flashed back, I was back in Panera looking at a blank screen and still listening to Norah Jones.

I know the nature of how we think is almost a “dare to think” mental game we play but then again, is this necessarily a bad thing?

I don’t think so.

In fact, I think blogs and the such were designed around this notion. Sit. Think. Write.

So, I will welcome the gaze because if anything, it gives me a reason to stand out in a crowd and you know how I love to stand out in a crowd. This upcoming week-end might be a little slow for posts since I am off to the woods for playtime, story time, and a little bit of poetry thrown in.

M.C. Davis

Oh, Okay…It’s My Birthday!

Yesterday I turned 31.


And I think the best part of that day was that I actually woke up late (around 7am) and the cable guy who came by to fix a problem actually upgraded our service, which saved me $2.

Imagine that. 

It was a strange day but even now I know that being 31 won’t do anything for my ego, libido, strength, or overall understanding of my purpose in life. 31 means 31 and only 31 because if 31 could talk to me, it would say only one thing…

“just wait until you turn  32”

Anyway, Troy has something planned this evening, of which I am completely clueless as to the plans but perhaps once a year being clueless isn’t that bad huh? My mom, whom I haven’t spoken to in a while, called this morning to wish me a Happy Birthday but since we are at odds with ourselves nowadays, I don’t think I’ll be calling her back anytime soon.


The course of growing older is getting more and more complex each day but then again, I think if we had the option to grower younger, we would still be perplexed as to the nature of growing. So, grow in peace and while you’re nodding your head, thank God that you are even able to do anything…like breathe.

or grow up.

M.C. Davis

Last Ditch Effort

Today was interesting and for once, this post will be extremely quick and to the point.


Why do people wait until the last minute to do the most important items? Some people say that the most inspiring thoughts come to those who wait until the last iota of time to put the info out.

I say rubbish because in between sweating like banshee in heat, the stress is just not worth it.

Wondering what it was?

Next time.

M.C. Davis

Home Sweet Home…I Think?

I live in Portland, Maine and for the past 7 years or so, I have claimed every street lamp, cobble stone, and street bum as my own private collection of wonderful things I love about this city. So, it takes a lot for me to stray too far from the city that has given so much to me in the sense of who I have become.


The other day, I walked down to my art studio on the corner of Congress and High street and noticed a different type of energy. It was a passing sense of things leaving the city and it felt cold and uneven with what I’ve been used to feeling in the city. There were several “For Lease” signs in the storefronts, more trash on the streets, and more attitude with the people walking. Also, the noise that once saturated the city with a nice cool vibe was more silent and dismal now, where I felt disconnected and slightly angry at the city’s progression.

The character of the city, if you can call it that, is most likely at a crux in between the old and the new. The more subtle parts of the city are emerging as bold and vivid while perhaps the more noticeable parts of the city are secretly departing. In essence, perhaps I am also departing in some direction from the city while the city itself has remained the same. In either case, maturity on any level sucks and I hate the idea of growing while things around me grow differently or don’t bother growing at all.

Portland, for all she has given me, will always keep me in sync with my loves, priorities, and goals and I pray that this transition I feel in the city will only grow from what we have learned from vice detract from the beauty of a city that has provided so much grounding for some many people.

M.C. Davis

I Want To Be Like Langston

I Want To Be Like Langston

The hills are too far for my reach
and I am desperately seeking a
way to understand his
words, ideas, and fantasies,
since I am here and he is there.
Life stumbles on like drunken soldiers
and I am dashing from your start
to my finish, wondering just how you
did that. I am lying around
and tempting myself into thinking
that you are at the gate
when all along you were
standing in the window
with your little yellow
pad, jotting metaphors
and dangling participles.
I want to be like Langston
because he knew what the soul
craved and he understood
how delicate words are to digested.
I want to be like Langston because
he understands my need for peace
and the trees that guard my gift
surrounding the culture within these bones.

M.C. Davis

Motivation Is For The Birds!

A few days ago, I met with a life coach.

Now, before I get the eyes rolling deep into the back of your head, hear me out. The nature of our meeting was strictly informal and if anything, friendly. There wasn’t even a charge for his services and he never made me feel inclined to pull out the Visa Check card. Truthfully, he was my past professor in graduate school so we’ve had a greater connection on a much different level. We even share the same name…both first and last.

So, we met up and luckily for us, it was a great day to catch up because I was completely rested (lucky for him) and he was extremely sensitive to my “What is the meaning of life?” questions (lucky for me). First, let me start by saying that everyone needs a mentor or someone they can internally relate to for guidance.

How many of us honestly can say that the place that one is in life was obtained in an a solo status? How many can say that what one has accomplished is completely by themselves and for themselves?

Uh, no one I know but then again, who am I?

So, M.D. (the life coach) is that type of guy: very sensitive, extremely active listener, and a great friend to have in your corner. All in all, it was a great meeting and I hope that once I achieve the simple objectives put in place, we can meet again to discuss the next evolution. The best part about speaking with him is in knowing that his struggles in being the man he is today is in part due to the fact that he, at a sudden pace, and at a later stage in his life, found himself wandering. He later told me (in more or less words) that his belief is in the individual to find themselves through themselves because in doing so, the most true and ideal version of who you are will appear.

Simply put: experience more from what you need to do in life because believe it or not, there are many millions of people asking the very same questions.

So, I am reading The Alchemist, written by Paulo Coelho. It’s a fable about following ones dreams and spearheading ones aspirations. From the sound of it already, I am going to be a changed man from this read.

Hey, sure beats reading about Britney and the gang of misfits making all that money in Hollywood!

A Runner’s High

Let me start by saying that 12.75 miles isn’t that far. In fact, most of us could calculate the distance from here to there to be about 12.75 miles. Or, the amount of miles it takes for me to enjoy a nice walk from my house, down the street (a bit) to enjoy some local ice cream and a few hours later, a quick but dainty walk back to the house.

Now, the fun part.

Yesterday, my buddies LaRoyce and Corey–well, actually, his name is Anthony Corey but since he has two first names, we usually have the option to call him either. So, my buddies LaRoyce, Corey, and I are training for the Maine marathon which happens every October, usually within the first week. This year’s start time is on the 7th of October, which will be quite brisk and chilly opposite of our training schedule considering we have been training in the oppressive heat and humidity.

Oh well, I digress.

So, the pace is good and the scenery is amazingly addictive and the runner’s high that one experiences individually is magnified by the bond you have with your buddies running beside you. The connection is indeed something to marvel at only because even where there is not a sound heard except your heartbeat and nature, you are intuitively communicating with one another and the expression, the fluidity of our movements, and the emotional commitment to the sport is felt on so many levels, that you almost forget that you are running at times.

Someone said that your real friends help you move but I say that your real friends help you run faster and faster until you can’t imagine life without running or sitting still.

This is what I have called my runner’s high because in it, one doesn’t feel alone or weary but instead, one feels liberated and full of a keen spirit to go as far as you can without telling anyone where you are heading, even if it’s 12.75 miles.

M.C. Davis