Photo.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Happy Bday Shannon Hoon.

 

Me + Nel Hoon, Shannon's Mom.

<3

C.A. MacConnell

Clock In.

So clean the red buckets
or don't scrub a thing.
Maybe ride the finest
gelding; that boy's 100-K
at least. Fix what's black,
make it white-smooth,
or watch someone greater
get the leg up, becoming
the cowboy you’ll never
see again. Teach the kids
how to win, that blood
and bruises and blisters
are temporary. Always.

Or, head down the drive
and lose every single child
at once. The tortoise cat lives
or dies. Down at the gate,
Mac the dog smiles, almost
forever. Soon comes the pack,
barking, catching up, seeking
out game scents, trusting
the air for signs, whether
danger or play. Above all,
when the scene chokes up,
grip the wheel, moving
with the wind and rocks.

And when the road runs
out, breaking the back
of work, you suddenly
realize that no one ever
came close, that no one
ever knew your twisted
insides, but like live gods,
now that you’re gone,
maybe they’ll whisper
your name, seeing traces –
a hand print in the dust,
a boot track in the lounge,
all loose boards nailed
tight, the rules and lesson
times that were forgotten,
and suddenly, they too
will live, buried within
you, wherever you go,
long after you clock out.
So, walk in silence
or hammer something.

C.A. MacConnell

Help Me Get to Number One!

Hey there! In the past few weeks, THE HOLE has jumped in stats from 10000 to 5000 to 3000 (this morning) in Psychological fiction, out of millions of books. Moving down is a good thing...that means closer to number one! 

Help me get there!

Go here.  There's a description, and you can take a peek at the first few pages as well.

Ten percent of all profits goes to Black Lives Matter, in honor of all the wise folks who helped me on the research for this book.

Thank you!

C.A. MacConnell

Clam

Take me inside.
These fragile tables,
these empty vases,
these antique chairs
have seen better days,
my friend. Outside,
weathered birds
poke hole after hole
into crooked trees,
furiously feeding,
deeply stabbing
at the edges. Take
me inside. Alone,
I sit and sip, shifting
through lost ones,
and I wonder where
you are dance-running,
searching for Sugarman,
telling each stranger
about your latest
revelation -- the long
version, freestyle,
whether or not the line
stretches down the aisle.
Tomorrow, you’ll fly
to Africa. Tomorrow,
you’ll buy a hand drum.
Tomorrow, you’ll catch
the lucky shot -- the rarest
herd of albino deer.
Tomorrow, you’ll find
the hidden fork --
a lost, forgotten path
within the infamous
trail. Tomorrow,
you'll be the first man
to ever feel each layer
of rainbow, painting
your fingertips with dew,
holding the most elusive
shades and tones,
one for each day
we live. Surround me
in your overcoat.
Take me inside
your ghetto or classy
room. Take me inside
where ceilings hold
stars and planets.
Take me inside,
where I can twist
the black band
from your hair,
letting it down loose,
whether tangled
or smooth. I will wear
your hippie hat.
I can almost taste
your too-sweet tea.
Take me inside.
Let me slide
like a clam
down your throat.

C.A. MacConnell

 

Photo: Untitled

 

Photo by me, C.A. MacConnell. Untitled, color, film, Nikon. Was taken a long time ago, but I'd sure like to be here right now! Feeling restless as all hell.

I do hope you have a love-filled, productive day. And don't forget to laugh. I've been laughing at myself since yesterday. Definitely not feeling mature. Definitely tired of authority, even at 47 years old. 

I'd like to be here, in this photo. That simple. ;)

Check out The Hole and send good wishes my way...I entered a contest that's a long shot, but man, it'd be a miracle to win. And I've worked for 20 years for it. So there's that. And then I could take a little road trip. That's the goal. Get my teeth fixed. Both sides of my mouth have hurt for a year. Maybe live on the road a li'l bit, yeah.

Might lose my apartment. But I have VERY LITTLE stuff, so not hard to leave. One plate, one pan, some T's, sneakers, some workout pants, that kind of thing. It'll all fit in one bag. I would keep my Jimi painting and my mountain painting. That's for certain. Oh, and my Thrasher hat. Other than that, I don't care at all. Never have cared about stuff.

A lot of things are up in the air. I've let it go. See, all I need is some oatmeal and a toothbrush, so I really don't have much to worry about.

It's simple, this life, when it comes down to it. All I know is this:  no matter what, I keep trying, and that is something.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Private Drive.

C.A. MacConnell

I have signed books in my possession. Retail price. Msg me on my FB Page only. Free shipping. Or, you can find THE HOLE here.

 

Looking good, everyone. I intend to creep on up the charts! :) Love to you,
C.A.

Photo: Perfect Fit.

💔💞
C.A. MacConnell

Church

Just worked on this one...hope you like it. Has some real punch, playing around with word sounds packing feeling. Always playing around with something, when it comes to words. Ha. -- C.A. <3

Church

I see you in the quick
lip licks, the thin-legged
stride that leans right,
hips tilting with sudden
sweeping. I see your face
in the good teeth tearing
through lettuce, the church
drunk fresh from detox;
he shudders and hovers,
kitchen-counter-style,
searching for a full plate.
I see you in the picnic
table bad man; he watches
the circling ladies, switches
open his blade, and carves
into knots, jerk-tugging
the tangled leashes, choking
his droopy-eyed hound dog,
and the mutt. I see you inside
the wedding photographer’s
erratic walk, the close-up
shot squint, and the nervous
groom’s shaky flute lip.
You must be behind the blue
wristwatch glass, keeping
time zones straight, scanning
the scene, like a park-side,
single father in coveralls –
one hand clutching the tiny,
fleshy fingers of his newly-
found son, the other hand
gripping a tart, green, half-
cracked lollipop.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Our Time

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Orange, and a Li'l Note.

 

 

A rare, cheery pic from my broody archives, ha. <3 Hope it lifts your spirits.

Trying to recover from being too "up" for too long while finishing up that fourth book, THE HOLE. You can find it here. If you're reading, please leave a note/comment on Amazon. Same spot. It'd really help me out! Thank you.

Hope you're feeling good. A lot of chaos going on, I know. I'm going to try and focus on the moment for all it's worth. Right now, that means resting.

Love to you,

C.A. MacConnell

The Science Fair

One thing I never gave a fuck about -- the grade school SCIENCE FAIR. Every year, it was mandatory to participate and about a month ahead, I started to feel ultra-anxious, wondering what the hell I was going to do to make the grade. I knew I'd never top that girl or boy who would bust out the plaster volcano that spewed real goo (someone always had a damn volcano). And I knew it was really the kid's dad or mom who made that volcano anyway, so I was pretty screwed when it came to topping that awesomeness, so I always wanted to bail out on the whole event, but participating wasn't a choice.

Mandatory.

(Side note: this morning, my roommate Buzz told me that he was one of the assholes who made one of those f'n volcanoes, and I was about to slug him. Then I informed him that I repeatedly write lewd poetry about him on this site, and he told me he'd skin me alive. All love around here).

Back to the story. Why wasn't there a WEIRDO FAIR? Why couldn't we be dreamers or artists for a month? That never happened. Hands down, I would've nailed that one.

One year (not sure how old I was), as usual, I was trying to figure out what to do for a Science experiment right at the last minute. Most people prepared for months, perhaps years. Not me. Frustrated, feeling that familiar knot of worry in my chest, I brushed my teeth and headed to bed. Well, that evening, the toothpaste was on its last legs, right at the end, and in that divine moment, I looked in the mirror with utter joy, raised my arm, and shouted, "Aha!" I finally had my idea. I decided to construct a mechanism to squeeze out the last bit of toothpaste. So I made this archaic and somewhat "vintage-looking" contraption out of wood; I could slide the toothpaste end in and then, I made wooden wheels that turned, yes turned, to squeeze the tube nice and tight, pushing the last of the paste right on outta there. No waste there. I even spray-painted the toothpaste machine blue for an added touch. Not sure what I put on my poster board display, and I'm not certain what the experiment, hypothesis, and conclusion were, but I imagine that I made up something ultra interesting. My mom, who helped me construct the wheels, thought I was a genius.

Another year, when I was a little older, I felt the old dread coming on, and each year the level of dread became worse as the pressure rose. I knew that the horrible FAIR was coming up, so I decided to start early and prepare for a change. I have no idea how, but for some odd reason, I got a hold of a professional device that measured people's hearing. Then I found my test subjects:

1) Mechanics in a car dealership
and
2) Workers in a pediatrician's office

I tested all of their hearing. I went through like 100 people, give or take a few, and they all complied, even though I had no idea what I was doing with that test gadget, but I was all dressed up in a long, white coat, taking notes, looking serious as hell. And the funniest part was that between test subjects, I don't think I cleaned the device that I stuck in their ears.

My hypothesis and conclusion were the following:

Hypothesis: Mechanics won't have as good of hearing as people who are in doctor's offices.
Conclusion: People who work in car dealerships have really bad hearing, compared to nurses.

Now, I know this conclusion might seem obvious to everyone, since the noise level at a dealership is like 50X that of a doctor's office, and in addition, many of those mechanics listened to heavy metal, or they just needed to clean their ears, but I had to prove my conclusion anyway. To this day, I still have no idea where that hearing tester came from.; it was probably something we found at a garage sale, and it was no doubt constructed by Hippocrates himself.

So I never won any award, not even Honorable Mention, but I still think I deserved a booby prize. I mean, the amount of creativity that went into writing about my experiments should have topped everyone, due to the fact that my experiments made absolutely no sense, and yet I still passed. 

I wish I had that toothpaste gadget right now. These days, they do have little plastic things to put on the end of the tube to squeeze out the juice, but my toothpaste machine was so much more exciting. And not to mention, it was spray-painted blue, which was highly artistic and somewhat toxic.

Gotta go. Time's running out, and I'm finally working on constructing my volcano.

C.A. MacConnell

Glove 25.

 

I took this picture in August of 2017. It was Glove #25, out of a collection of glove pictures I have packed away for a special occasion. All together, I took 46 pictures of gloves. Almost exactly three years ago, I saw this one, snapped it quickly, and went on my way, without realizing that in August of 2021, it would be my cover shot for my fourth book, THE HOLE.

Pretty rad, eh?

Get yours here.

On Amazon, Paperback and Ebook.

If you read, please leave a comment on Amazon. I'd be so grateful.

Lately, I've been seeing a lot of lost shoes...kids' shoes. Often, they're sitting on benches. Seem like nice shoes too. I keep thinking, how did that kid go home without shoes? How did they not notice? Then again, I have no kids, so I can't tell you why. I suppose if I did, I'd forget a lot of things along the way, with the pandemonium going on. :) 

Hell, I forget a lot of things anyhow. Particularly names and directions. I'm good with faces, features, and the like. But the rest is up for grabs.

If no one told you today, I love you,

C.A. MacConnell