What Do I Do With The Picture Frame?

I’ve lived in apartments almost my entire life. This has come with certain things that have become standard. One, you learn to ignore the smells of cooking that don’t really mix well with each other and two, you get to hear couples end in spectacular fashions. Screaming, yelling, throwing things, name calling, histories being pulled out of the void of memory. I didn’t have that. It all ended in a whisper; “Pack up my things”.

So, I set out to do just that. 

I went through the apartment, the one I hate, but learned to love. I went through the cardboard boxes that served as shelves, the closets that had become jungles of our things growing over each other. I pulled everything that I could find out and threw it in a pile. I compartmentalized everything that represented her presence in my life. That’s when I realized there was something fundamentally wrong with the way my mind worked. 

She’s more than a pile of clothes and rummage sale trinkets. 

She’s the energy and spirit that makes homes appear out of thin air. 

It dawned on me after staring at the pile for, most likely, too long that the task was only partially done. I still had to box it all up. I had to sift through the minutes and days that wrapped around each one of those items. Each shirt that wrapped around her, each piece of makeup that she’d use perfectly. The little things that we accumulated after discovering hobbies that we could share together, had to be removed from their sacred spots. I had to watch as everything I was losing was placed in goddamned box and I couldn’t stop the practice since I was the one doing it. 

What’s mine, what’s hers and all those other greedy questions that have to be answered pounded at my mind as the work continued. I couldn’t help myself from theorizing about what she would be taking with her. Would she go through the boxes and see everything like I had? Did I even want her to have to go through with that? Could I spare her? Does the concept of propriety trump sacrifice? 

It’ll all be gone in a day or so. It’ll be in a new place, with the same woman. Someday it might even reside in a new man’s house. I selfishly pray she doesn’t tell him all the stories that live in those things. But at the same time, I can’t make the same promise, and now I realize why everything has to go. 

I hope it all finds a good place. Because surely if all this stuff can be safe somewhere, so can she. I know she can. 



State Of The Writer (4/27/13)


Motivation folks, motivation. That’s been the word of the week. Whether it’s the drive to continue writing, or the push to be healthier, I’ve been dictated by motivation. Thankfully, it’s been the abundance of motivation rather than the lack thereof.

Some of you probably know that I’ve already paid my registration fee for a 5k run in July. What makes this run interesting is that it’s a Zombie Survival Run. Basically it’s a 5k run, where the course is dotted with obstacles and flooded with people dressed up as zombies. I’ll be given a few flags, which the zombies will be greedily trying to steal and the goal is to make it to the end with at least one of those flags.

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Barkeep! A round for my friends: History, Legacy, Hope and Fear.


A clean glass, a small hiss, and a careful pour. The empty air contained in the glass is gently pushed out and is replaced with a liquid. It’s rich, and fragrant. A small foamy layer sits on top like an island on a beautiful black ocean.  I give the rim of the glass a tender kiss and pour the contents within into my mouth. A welcome bitterness washes over my taste buds  but it morphs quickly to what a harvest must surely taste like. As the hoppy potion makes it’s way to my stomach I feel a warm tide flow over my mind. I set the glass down, and lean back in my seat. As the tide quickly recedes from my head I think about years that I never lived in and I feel welcomed into a legacy that I’ve inherited. I’m from Wisconsin, there’s an infinity all around me and this beer in front of me will never let me forget that.

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State of The Writer (4/20/13)


I’d like to thank you all for coming on such short notice. I’ll be taking questions at the end of this statement. Once again, thank you.

Like all good writers, I have far too many projects in the works right now. Some are just little things that aren’t worth mention but, I’m really excited about and I’d like to share my progress on them. Some of the motivation behind this is to keep everyone informed some of it is a form of instilling a sense of shame in myself for falling behind (like I’m most likely going to do). Continue reading

My Life By Ken Levine (by Jonathan Cadotte)


It has been a long road that has led me to where I am now, in terms of video game fandom. When I was younger I had no problem when it came to talking about Mario, Ryu and Ken, Sonic and Tetris. It was a shared language we all had. But then when I reached my teenage years something changed. I no longer saw the knowing nods and glances when I told people about Solid Snake, Aeris or Crash. Now that I’m in my twenties I’m still aware of the glazed over looks I receive when I try and explain my latest gaming obsession but, there’s something different. I’m now able to talk about more than “Dude, graphics”, I can ramble on about plots and characters in a way that I don’t think was possible before. Perhaps it’s because my own vocabulary and comprehension has bettered, but I like to think that it’s because games have allowed me to. I only realized that after playing Bioshock: Infinite.

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Another Journey Into The Welcoming.

I’m not going to try and pretend this is the first time I’ve done this. This isn’t my first blog, there’s a corner of the internet just packed with the discarded remains of many misguided attempts. I started making this one at 4:00 a.m. which makes me both confident and nervous about how long this one will last.

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Lessons From A Main Street Cafe #2

(Originally written in January 2013)

Stars Don’t Necessarily Need A Stage

I’ve been to a burlesque show once. It was a strange experience watching how the performers simultaneously pandered to the audience while making sure their jobs were being completed. It was funny to see how the men were completely wrapped up in these girls as they danced and sang as if they had a valid interest in their lives. As the songs went on and the intermission morphed into the second act I found myself thinking about that Main Street cafe.

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