The Zine Around The Corner

Issue. 1

Hello dear readers!

I am TMO, this is the digital version of my zine (and luckily, not my handwriting). You don't know
me (and this is probably a good thing), but I have been around the Internet since 2001 (roughly).
I blog. Constantly! The “idea” of a personal zine was suggested to me after many kind words on
my blog, and through a contact sheet I have linked from my “about” page. It's what I do, anyway,
so why not make a publication out of it?

The subjects are simple:

- Art

- Music

- Essays

- Minimalism

I will try to stay within these boundaries of things I am most interested in. And thank you for
interest, your readership, and your feedback (in advance).

I'm really glad you're here :)

TMO

////////////////////////////////////////////////
3 Million Words Written (and counting!)

::Originally published on Write.as::

....................
The Start
....................

In October 2006 I started blogging. I created a Blogger (.blogspot) blog using an e-mail address
that my brother-in-law set up because at the time I did not know how to get a new e-mail
address. I had not used the Internet to any good extent in over a year at that point. Before
starting this blog, I had spent many days and nights visiting celebrity gossip blogs (or online
tabloids) like Egotastic.com, IDontLikeYouInThatWay.com, CityRag.com, and countless others. I
bounced around from link to link on those sites and soon realized that I wanted to be a blogger.
On October 26, 2006, I became just that.

I started with 200-300 word posts. About celebrity gossip. The site was
NotoriousNews.blogspot.com (terrible name, I know), and I wanted to be like the “big guys”, so I
wrote five blog posts per day. Five days a week. Not including the “daily links” that I had up
around lunchtime each day. To not make this blog post (the one you are reading) a “Gossip
Blogging 101” class, I will summarize by saying that I wrote on this blog five days a week, every
week from 2006-2011.

During this time, in 2009, I got a PAID job offer from the head writer/Webmaster of
FatbackMedia.com (previously FatbackAndCollards.com) to write four blog posts per day for his
Website, and I would be compensated for my time/writing. I did this from 2009-2011 while
simultaneously maintaining the five blog posts per day on Notorious News (which each one had
grown in size to 400-500 words per post).

..........................
Gossip Is Dead
..........................

In 2011, traffic was tanking. Social media is where all the eyes were, and no one wanted to read
about celebrities when they could simply FOLLOW those celebrities on their favorite social
network. So, the job ended, as did Notorious News. I quit blogging/writing all together for exactly
six days. And then I discovered Tumblr. It was October 2011, almost five years to the day of
starting Notorious News that I created my first Tumble-log and started to write about anything
and everything. There were reblogs on there, too, but mostly original posts by me. That blog
later was named Tomskee.com and I turned it into a “constant journal” or “life blog” in 2014 and
it was updated on average 7-10 times per day. Perhaps 300-500 words written per blog post.
Seven days a week.
..........................
Buh-Bye Tumblr, Hello Journals!
..........................

It was an impulse decision to delete my Tumblr at 2AM in the Summer of 2015, but I did it. And
then I immediately grabbed a stack of papers and wrote, with ink pen, what I had just done. The
paper I was writing this on was the back of a 75 volume of text which I had titled “The Typewriter
Papers Vol. 1” that I wrote on, yes, a typewriter in 2015. I also wrote a Vol.2 and a Vol.3 to the
“series”, each 75 pages. The backs of all of those pages got filled with handwritten entries fairly
quickly.

And as long as I am on journals, there were The BlackBerry Diaries (written on a BlackBerry
Classic) in 2016 (2 volumes), The Pi Journals (written on Raspberry Pi, 4 volumes (which I still
have)), and also Dog knows how many thousands of words written on a Website called
writer.bighugelabs.com.And I also maintained hand-writing with the LifeOS journals (Vol.1 & 2
complete, working in the third now :))

.........................
Enter Write.as
.........................

Sometime around 2016 I started to really pay attention to my online privacy. I even had a
resource Website called PSShub.online which stood for “Privacy, Safety, Security Hub” and I
was very inspired by the Twitter account SwiftOnSecurity (even donating $20 to her
DecentSecurity.com Website). During my quest for the perfect writing platform and wanting to
take my privacy seriously, I discovered Write.as, that always puts your privacy first. It was/is an
incredibly unique platform, and their philosophy is simple: they won't sell-out and will offer a
distraction-free, privacy-centric writing platform to any who need it. I am simply paraphrasing my
interpretation of their philosophy, of course, but this is how I see it.

As of today, Feb. 12, 2020, I have 1,500+ blog posts on this platform starting just a bit over two
years ago (on this blog anyway. I had a blog on here before, deleted/lost it, started again)

........................
Why Am I Stating All This?
........................

Well, if I had done one blog post per day, that was 500 words, seven days a week, for fourteen
years – that equals 2,555,000 words written. Realistically it is much, Much higher a number.
That is why I am rounding to 3 Million words written. Perhaps more like 4 or even 6 million
words.
I was shocked when I started to think about it all, starting with a (failed to previously mention)
e-book I wrote in 2014/15 titled “Job Corps Rule!” that was ended at 100K words, which is 10%
of 1M, which got me to crunching numbers.

Keep writing!

/////////////////////////////////

Artiste

The cover art for my solo Black Metal project (possibly). Created with cigarette ash, acrylic
paint, and inkpen.
///////////////////////////////

Quick Update On Minimalism (Dogmatic/Spartan)

I've whittled down a lot of my possessions over the years. Immensely in the past two years. I
thought I would actually need all the stuff that I had in my 300 sq ft apartment when I lived in
down town STL in 2014-2015, and that downsizing wouldn't be necessary again, but then when
I moved to and from my apartment to my sister's house time and time again for a week at a
time, I realized that all I “needed” was an 18L backpack and the amount of things that go in it.

So that got be thinking after I moved into THIS apartment (430 sq ft): what is really, Really,
REALLY necessary and how far can I push it? Mind you, I am not inconveniencing myself in any
way or making myself uncomfortable in any way. I am keeping things I sincerely need and
ridding myself of things I sincerely don't. That simple.

Where am I now? I have about 10L worth of stuff that I would value as things with which I need
to own. I have a capsule wardrobe for winter clothes, too, and that stays obviously because I
live in Missouri. But the number of things I never have/never will count, because it makes
absolutely no difference whatsoever. But a quick rundown-
toiletries

kitchen utensils (basically one of each, nothing extravagant, and not relying on a microwave
(been three years since I owned one of those!))

- several t shirts

- several shorts

- several underwear (& socks)

- shoes (1 pair)

- Winter capsule wardrobe

- a little bit of paperwork

- my phone

- hiking canteen

- hiking stick

- several notebooks
 - e-cig

- a couple pens

- wallet

- keys

- electronics chargers

- shemaugh

That is all! That is all of it! Most of these things are disposable/consumable, so things come and
go and that is fine. Ah yes and I have a lamp. I also have a chaise chair and a bed to sleep on.
The bed is being replaced with a hammock eventually though. The desk is built into the wall of
the apartment so no need for one of those at the moment. The stickered dresser is getting
thrown away very soon (old/ratty/useless).

That's all she wrote.

//////////////////////////

Minimalism And Economic Disparity

Minimalism has been around for as long as humans have existed. Starting in 2009(-ish) people
began to realize, after the economic crash, that effected the entire world but particularly the
United States, people needed to make a wholesale change in the way they
led their lives, approached their spending, habits, and future goals. They needed to adopt a
form of frugality or “refresh” of their financial situation as many lost their jobs, or at least their
position at such job, flow of income, and since this crash pertained to the housing market, even
a place to live. “Minimalism” (be it simply a design aesthetic, clear-headedness, or spiritual
beliefs) took the backseat to what amounted, in American culture, as a method of survival
among the classes who were now unemployed, underemployed,
or for the younger generations, had never been employed at all. If I were to tell you that I
became a minimalist through an “enlightenment” or simply an “interest” in the subject, I would
be lying. Though the backseat approaches did appeal to me, I became a minimalist for the sake
of frugality, practicality & survival.

The United States, prior to 2009, what sort of an Oo-ra, spend as much as you like, waste as
much as you like, excess is best, keep up with the jones', capitalism is king, type of attitude
when it came to personal finances. Very few in America still celebrate/live this lifestyle today. It
is, for the most part, extinct. Now we have people who borrow WAY too much
money via student loans at the University for educations which they will then be
underemployed with (that is, over-qualified for the work they are doing as well as being below
the income expectancy of that same degree of education when compared to years passed),
people who do “pound the pavement” looking for brick-and-mortar work in their communities –
only to be turned away due to the lack of availability of the job they are applying for, and people
who do venture into the entrepreneurial realm of small business – only to find themselves with a
larger debt burden and being worse off economically than before they started such venture.
Granted, these are pessemistic ways of looking at the
current situation in the United States, but I am not saying anything that isn't true and
looking at this dilemma is certainly worth anyone and everyone's time and what we can do
about it.

Enter: minimalism. A well-rounded, and psychologically healthy approach todealing with

financial shortcomings can be approached from the angle of “less is more”, “less but better”, etc.
language, but wouldn't it be better to form your own phrasing, mindset, or even inner-dialogue to
a new (or old) economic position? I would propose that this is a very positive way to look at a
frugal lifestyle!

Of course, it isn't “cut back and chill”, so to speak. We should be using all of our efforts and
resources to maximize financial, cultural, and economic well-being in this country, and feel
better about yourself and your environment while you are at it! Many will tell you that a healthy
mindset + a motivated approach to dealing with life's challenges can benefit not
just yourself but everyone around you. We are told these days that prosperity usually
comes in the form of what college degree you have, what resources you have access to, what
city you live in, or even what family you were born into. This is nonsense. Yes, some people
have it easier than others. It has always been that way, and it will always be that
way. But a positive and forward-thinking mindset about a temporary financial disposition as well
as an “all-in” approach to the minimalist lifestyle may just be the ticket INTO the life of fulfillment,
joy, and prosperity we all desire.

//////////////////////////
Metro
(A short fiction by TMO)

It began at around 4 pm. It was just like any other day. A ride on the Metrolink, a coffee from
Starbucks, an illegal smoke on the steps of the station. The air was crisp. It was January…
something. Thomas couldn’t remember. He wanted to finish the Marlboro before he
boarded the Shrewsbury train. However, he was disturbed when an icy wind started blowing
harshly against his right cheek. He snuffed the butt half through the smoke and started
walking up the stairs.

Two young people, a couple, passed him on the way up. The sky was glowing brightly
though no sun was showing through the clouds. A day where sunglasses were necessary,
but still gloomy enough to expect snow. He sat in the Northernmost unit so he was facing
the way the train was moving. The unit doors still open, an icy chill swept through it. The
Securitas security boys checked his ticket. An all day pass. He half expected to get a nod of
appreciation from the guard for the pricey purchase, but instead just moved on to the next
ticket holder.

Not a lot of people on board that afternoon. Maybe a dozen people combined throughout
the entirety of the cabs. A girl boarded. Very pretty. Maybe 21.She was wearing a brown
and heather trench coat which looked to be made of 100% wool. On that chilly day, it was
buttoned to the very top. A small pink scarf peeked out where the collars met. Blue jeans
underneath, and brown moccasins. Beautiful brown hair and a book beneath her right
hand. He could barely see the title. “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim”.
The doors closed and the Metrolink operator asked the passengers to take their seats and
that the train would be moving soon. The brown-haired girl didn’t sit. She stood with her left
hand hooked around the bar and swayed when the Metro finally started to pick up speed.
As much as he would have liked to stare at her all day, she had already flashed Thomas a
couple of apprehensive looks and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. He felt rather
timid himself. He looked away. He diverted his eyes to the abandoned buildings and
factories along the Metrolink route, covered in graffiti with their windows smashed out.

They reached their next stop and a large group of people boarded. Over a dozen people
huddled onto the unit, their arms folded, their shoulders up around their neck from the chill.
He briefly wondered where they were headed, what they did for a living, what was on their
bucket list?

He knew Forest Park was his first destination. The operator’s voice cracked over the intercom
instructing the passengers to exit from the left. Thomas stepped off the unit and an arctic
blast of wind hit his face. From there, he would catch a connecting Metro to the Delmar
Loop or U City Loop as the Washington University students called it. It was one of his
favorite places in the world. He gazed down the track as the Metro approached, his eyes
slowly glazing over with wind chill. This unit, more crowded than the last one as it is one of
the few connection points on the St. Louis Metrolink.

Thomas stepped off at his destination and discreetly slipped his wallet from his back pocket
to his front. Having his wallet stolen was not an odd occurrence in St Louis so he always took
extra precaution. Upon looking around his surroundings, he saw a group of teenagers
hanging off the hand railings on the other side of the tracks. He would have to walk straight
through them to reach the street. Walking through groups of people, particularly those
already associating with each other caused nervousness for him. He was what some would
call “anti-social”.

One of the kids jumped off the railing and stopped him. “Hey” the young man said. Thomas
didn’t respond, he simply looked him in the eye. “I saw you put your wallet in your front
pocket when you got off. Worried you might get robbed?” He was spot on. “It has
happened to people before in this area” Thomas replied. There was a certain aggressive
energy in the air that Thomas could feel. The small group of friends who were just a second
ago, about 5 of them, hanging off the railings were now positioned around Thomas. They
didn’t look like an immediate threat but their body language was intimidating.

“Listen here chief, I have something I want you to hold for me. I have to go up the street and
talk to my boy. See that officer?” The boy pointed at the direction of a cop standing on the
top of the Delmar stairs. The officer was staring downwards on the track and was slowly
turning his head towards them. “Don’t look. Chill chill.” The boy said. Thomas didn’t quite
know what to make of the situation and wasn’t sure what the boy was asking but panic was
starting to creep up his throat.
“Like I said I just need to holler at my boy right quick and my boy Jeff here…” “Sup” says the
friend. “… he’s gonna wait right here on this side of the tracks. If I pass by this cop, he is
going to stop me and ask me to empty my pockets because he busted me doin’ shit I wasn’t
supposed to be doin’ on these tracks before.” Instantly Thomas thought why the hell doesn’t
he have one of his friends hold whatever the hell it is?

The boy pulled back the bottom edge of his shirt and Thomas could see a pistol tucked into
the front of the boy’s pants. Immediately his heart started racing. It became very clear to
Thomas that no matter what he said at that exact moment would mean dire consequences
regardless of what actually came out of his mouth. “Hold this, it will be 15 minutes and I will
give you $20 for your time.” The boy said, and slapped a $20 bill in Thomas’ hand and then
after a careful look back and forth handed him the gun and said, “ hurry up! Put it in your
pocket!” Not knowing what to do, Thomas complied. Finally the pressing question came to
the surface. “Why can’t one of your boys hold this while you go up the street?” Thomas
asked. The boy seemed like he had fully expected Thomas to ask just that question. “ My
boy here is already on parole and these other four dudes are comin’ with me.” The boy said.
The guy who the boy was talking about who was apparently on parole looked to be not
even 17 years old. But this was St.Louis, Thomas knew of people not even 15 who had been
incarcerated for well over a year.

Thomas was petrified of the situation he found himself in. “Like I said, 15 minutes and I will
be right back. No sweat.” The boy said. As the boy said the word “sweat” Thomas instantly
started feeling little ice drops of perspiration run down his neck and down his spine. Before
Thomas could tell the boy why he was the last person for this detail , the boy and the other
5 members of his crew jogged off towards the officer and up the stairs, disappearing across
the street.

Thomas didn’t know what to make of this situation at all. Manic thoughts ran through his
head: Do I stand here? Do I take a seat? Do I head over the the trash can and just dump the
pistol and go on my merry way? He sure as hell wouldn’t dare board the metro again with a
concealed firearm on his person. If he got caught, that is a two year stint in the
Thunderdome: The St Louis City Jail where inmates fight so violently that they make the
floor shake and the roof vibrate. He decided to try to play it cool: Cross the tracks and mind
my own p’s and q’s. Just another day. This was the first time he had been seriously hassled
at a Metrolink stop and for his inauguration, it had to be the worst situation possible. Panic
was not a familiar sensation in Thomas. Nothing that had escalated to a full fledged panic
attack. He was thankful he never had one. But he felt he would soon find out exactly what
one felt like. Finally, after looking around, salvation. He saw a trashcan to the far left of the
stop but as soon as he got up out of his seat, a bicycle cop wheels up to the trashcan and
parks against it. He was devastated.

Snow began to fall. Thomas slowly took his seat again. It was coming down quickly and in
wide range but the chunks of snow themselves were not very thick. He tried an old mantra
he heard while observing a yoga class one time: Think of your finest day. Remember the
good things that are going on in your life. Remember your center. He immediately began
day dreaming about the day he lost his virginity. The first time he saw the ocean. His first
airline flight as a child. Anything and everything that was not there, in that present moment.

“Feeling okay?” Oh shit. It was the bicycle cop. Sitting on the bench with Thomas’ head
tilted back trying to remember the best days of his must’ve looked like he was about to nod
out on heroin. “Um, yea, I was just daydreaming.” Thomas said. She shifted her belt. “ There
has got to be a warmer place to do that.” She said. Thomas half-smiled. Her radio crackled.
She spoke some police talk gibberish into the speaker and released the button. “You have
any id on you sir?” She asked Thomas. “Of course.” He replied. He pulled out his wallet from
his front pocket. A rush of blood and adrenaline shot up his throat. He had put the gun in
the same pocket as his wallet and if the bicycle cop wanted him to empty out his pockets on
the spot, all she had to do was ask. Trying to retrieve his wallet now would instantly throw
Thomas under the bus. Just then, loud horn went off in the distance. The Metro must have
spotted someone on the tracks and sounded the horn to signal for them to get out of the
way. The bicycle cop looked over her shoulder at the Metrolink cab. This bought Thomas
just enough time to make the maneuver he had to make. As she looked, Thomas
maneuvered the gun’s barrel away from where his wallet was stuck and he got his I.D. out
just before she looked back at him. Thomas’ hands shook profusely. “ I have it right here.
Ha.” Thomas could feel the sweat build up on his forehead. “Mr. Robinson. From Crystal
City? Far away from home today aren’t you? What brings you to Delmar?” Oh shit. What am
I gonna say. Originally my plan for coming to the loop was to go to Blueberry Hill and grab
dinner and maybe shoot some pool at Fitz’s but now I have to explain to the cop what I was
doing there perched like a dumbass on the Metro stop. “ I am just on my way to the airport.
I had lunch at Blueberry Hill and now I am going to meet my sister at the airport.” It was a
reasonable explanation, he thought, but he could tell he gave away something in his voice
and he could see her eyebrows shift beneath her sunglasses to indicate she was puzzled.
“Well you just missed your train.” She said. The comment threw him through a loop. What
train? Is she talking about the Metrolink? Just then it dawned on him. “Oh yes. Well there
will be another one on its way shortly.” He showed extra teeth when he smiled. “Well stay
out of trouble Mr. Robinson.” She said as she handed back his I.D. back. As she picked up
her bike to walk up the stairs, he managed to get his I.D. back into his wallet and then put
his wallet…shit! There’s hardly any room in my pocket! Between the wallet and the firearm it
looks like I am concealing a small midget in my pants! He tucked the wallet in half way
through so the other half was poking out from his jeans. OK, OK, five or six minutes have
gone by and no hang ups besides the officer. This asshole better show up soon before shit
really goes down. The officer Thomas was warned about was making his way towards him as
the bicycle cop pedaled away. The cop was coming in Thomas’ direction.Thomas tried not
to look directly at him, but he could see the cop was trying to make eye contact.

He walked directly in front of Thomas.“Sir?” He said standing stiffly. “Yes officer?” Thomas
said, as nervous as could be. “Where are you heading today sir?” The cop asked.
“Um, to the airport, to see my sister.” Thomas replied. This didn’t put a dent in the cop’s
inquisitiveness. “I just got done talking to the Officer Maley.” Said the cop. “She says you
were coming from Blueberry Hill and were on your way to the airport. Like you said, but…”
good, this honorable officer was vouching for me and was confirming what I was doing at
the Metro stop. “I just saw you get off the stop two stops ago and you haven’t left this stop
yet.” Thomas’ head spun like crazy. Passing out sounded like a great idea at that point. A
million excuses ran through his head. I hadn’t had to lie in any way since he was in high
school. What the fuck am I going to say to this random cop? “Paul! PAUL!” Screams came
from the top of the stairs. The cop finally broke eye contact with him and jerked his head
over to the street where there was a lot of commotion. The cop ran off like a lightning bolt
where Thomas could see two of the six bastards who were left him there to be harassed by
police while he had a (presumably loaded) handgun the size of Arkansas in the front pocket
of his Levi’s.. Hopefully the fucker who handed off the pistol to Thomas was in the group
who both cops now barreled down on, their clubs drawn. Thomas immediately power
walked over to the trash can where the bicycle cop was before. Without looking left or right;
he dumped the gun through the lid and walked back the way he had come from.

Just then, he heard a roar coming down the tracks of the Metrolink that led back to Forest
Park, then Shewsbury. He quickly boarded and felt the weight of fifty boulders lift off his
chest. A spiked chill ran down his spine with the warmth of the cart hitting his body. Almost
hyperventilating, almost crying, he sat in the back row, facing traffic, and watched as the
police knocked the boy who handed Thomas the gun what felt like a lifetime ago to the
ground and applied their handcuffs. The doors closed. The unit began to move.

Feeling back to his old self, he took a gander around the car. Graffiti. Buildings.

Cruising on tracks above the street traffic. Bright skies and snow lightly falling. Away from
that awful, awful situation. Then, there she was again. Hanging on to the bar at the front of
the unit like she was when he boarded at Shewsbury. But how? Why? He had only been off
the tracks for 20 minutes and she couldn’t possibly have done what she had to do in that
short period of time. She looked at Thomas. He realized he was staring again. He looked out
the window.

As he watched traffic, he saw her approaching him and with a slight smile across her face.
When she got in front of him, they locked eyes and a big smile spread across her face. He
smiled sheepishly back at her. She sat down. “I’m Amanda,” she said putting her book
evenly on her lap. “Thomas”, he said. She smelled of dandelions, or some potent pollen. Her
hair flowed down well past her shoulder blades. Her eyes as dark brown as freshly brewed
espresso. He didn’t think of what happened at Delmar.