“Sounds like a scam to me. That’s all I’m saying”


Start second book in the dead writers series sometime this week. back to the going. Hopefully have novel done by end of the year. Other than that I don’t know what about much else. start section. Peace.

The first corpse. I knew him. Officer Malinowski. He picked me up once and drove me home. I fell asleep after work on a bench. He said,
“That’s how you get yourself in trouble.”
“Sounds like a case of the fear” I said.
“You don’t know shit boy.”
That was two months ago. Right after the bender. Never thought I’d see him again. I don’t think he remembered me, and so feeling a bit better I was back to the apartment. It was strange. Cops were outside and yellow tape was blocking the entrance. First responders were wheeling a body-bag. I saw the face of the dead man who was getting zipped up. It was this guy who lived below me. He was weird, hardly knew him. I think I said “hello” to him once. Now he’s dead. I was out of breath.
“Sir, officer, Malinowski, um, what happened?”
“I guess you could say… Henry?”
“He was murdered.”
“Yep. Sad ending for a sad son of a bitch. So you know anything?”


Here’s some stuff. Fall Notebook, Page three.

Going back into novel mode. Done with the gonzo for a long time. Being a journalist is dirty. It’s not really me. I’ll do it if people want to pay me. It’s bullshit. I can’t do it. I have enough material and evidence now. I don’t really need any more.

I’m a writer. I make books. Tonight, I Got drunk and sad and felt defeated. I thought and made connections and had a good time. I’m not that old. I can still have fun. I hope.

Now for bed and get the hell out of this town when the sun comes up. Go back tomorrow to my novel for five and then Friday be back in the city. There’s no life and It’s sad here. Vibes. Real or not. They’re bad.

The Book. I Worked on it for ten hours today. Deleted the site . You wont hear about it again until it’s done . I always say that. I think I mean it. I don’t know what being human is.

There’s a free sample. I think this is the home stretch. I’m feeling alright. Nice. Enough nonsense. I’m like a kid. I don’t know else to do oh man…

I should sleep. It’s hard sleeping alone. Not because of loneliness. Because I get restless. I can only laugh. I’m not a bastard like you have to be in this world. I try to be nice. It’s made life not easy. I don’t care. It is what it is. Talk soon. One week off. I don’t even know what I’m talking about. I wanted to say I’m ok. For who? I don’t know what being human is.

Be happy. Writing a novel is the best thing in the world. I love lamp. Be Cool. Thanks for reading.

this is where it ends


Fall Digital Notebook page 2

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Much has happened the past month.  A post. That’s what this IS, and this is going back to the note to self sort of writing. I’m trying to remember all of the real notes that are everywhere in bags and in flash drives. I’m going to organize my real paper mountain today. I’ve made such a mess with ink for way too long now. There’s some real good stuff that I don’t even remember writing still unedited. I hope people know that my life work has in many ways been set in stone and there’s no looking back, and back to where, I don’t have time for this…

Going back to the east side this weekend and I’m looking forward to being in ann arbor again. Lived there for a year and it was a very strange experience to say the least. I’m older now, ha, I hope a few select bouncers don’t remember the daring depressed cheap drinker that I used to be. Whatever. I’ve been all over the state of Michigan for the past month. Did some gonzo work on a flask of gin. That character is absurd, Auden Wyatt. It’s funny running around when I’m doing a piece with his voice, but it’s hard on the body the next day and I usually feel bad maybe…about something. Have about four hundred pages for that book and I’m looking forward to getting around to A Flask of Gin sometime by the end of this year.

Today, the 24th of September, and Woke up after four-hour sleep to get a few hours of silence.  Been real social as of late, more so than normal, trying to get the words out. After I post this I’m going to get back into my novel, The Fear and The going, Book 1, the going. Unplug the internet and get lost until sunrise. It’s been for what feels like forever. After working on it everyday for a solid five months (just the revisions, the entire book has taken three years) I haven’t pulled the file up in a solid week. It’s weird going away from it for so long. I had to work on some other projects and just not feel so consumed for a while. That book really does take a lot out of me, because even when I’m editing on my page I’m running and fighting on, I’m there wherever Henry Oldfield is. It’s a strange feeling. I can get over that, it’s more tiring than anything else really. Old man river over here…blah blah.

West Vine Press, my created publisher or whatever, released its first book. State and Stasis by John Withee. It’s a good collection of poetry and prose. He’s a poet from Kalamazoo mi. He graduated from the same university as I did and it’s weird that I edited and formatted and designed the book. It was a good process. 


Growth is weird. In just the past year I’ve grown in every dimension of my life. I don’t want to stop. That’s why I believe in the spontaneous style. It fails many times, sometimes misses important details, fine points and moves too fast, but sometimes you have to do what you want when you want and trust yourself, take that picture, write this post, look at that star or go walk somewhere even when you’re tired or have other things to do. Sometimes this is the same as trying something new, a spark in my mind and if I can I will force myself to go and capture every atom of possibility I can before I die.

It keeps going. It never stops. Leveling this with the calm breathing of editing and note keeping is a trial, it’s not easy, and it’s interesting to say the least. Oh. The book. I did the cover work and what not. John. He’s a smart kid. His book is disciplined. I thank him for giving me the chance at working with his words. I’ll be working on more in the series of future dead writers soon. Next one is written from a writer from Saint Petersburg Florida. In 2014 there will be more, and I hope to meet some new writers who might be interested soon. Someone far out there.

I don’t have much more on my mind. Back to work after cold air and smoke. Work sleep and wake back up for another day, and well no, that’s all. I just had to type.

Now. Back here at the screen. Woke up. Another day and I Made some sample books by hand. Going to get back into my novel for the next week. It should be done someday. I’m crossing off projects and I can’t wait for the time when everything is completed. I’ll be ready to start again.

P.S: Here’s a few pictures (A. Argos Book Store Grand Rapids and Fall. B. Book Cover. C. Reeds Lake. D. Short word picture section from draft 6 of novel. E. Highway. Sunset. End of first day of fall)

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Froze (Fall Notebook, Page 1)

Needed to write something. I don’t know what or why. overwhelmed. Froze up. Words. Don’t want to express things just need to say things. Not depressed only troubled by the conflicting thoughts that aren’t my own. Thoughts. words. Take a shower and felt better. People and expressions. War march from Washington for two weeks. building the fear. Then. Nothing. Then. What? Nothing. Beds made and sheets and fixed my watch. I froze. Thinking. I feel fine there’s just something I can’t say that’s holding me up. War. Nothing. Keys and the store and people and signing digital pads. Bills and dates and wanting to go out on Saturday night but too much to do. Nothing really to say but I needed to say something. People. Family. Friends. Girl. Dog. Me. Pulling. Everything is pulling. Slow down. Don’t need to tell me. Slowly. Build like steps to get where? Sometimes I forget. Next. I waited and closed my eyes. Everything. What? I don’t know. Books and deadlines and social media, everything’s so overwhelming. Froze up for two hours and slept too late. Not having a bad time there’s just so much to do and nowhere newer seems to come into view. Sometimes everything is all too much for me to think about. I have to. I have to think about so much. And friends…last night. And we all felt weird. We all said this. We said the we felt weird for some reason but we didn’t know why. All of us only wanted to get drunk. We did. It wasn’t fun. Everyone got mad and The fall? Maybe reflection occurs more so after the summer. Twenty Degrees over normal. 95. 85. Ten Degrees below normal. 55. 35. It’s cold. The Weather. Drinking too much only makes it worse because sometimes when the writer gets like this… he, sometimes I get mean and say things and forget things. Sometimes I get mean and I hate it. I say what I say only to spark some life but I drank too much and felt bad about what I said because I just wanted to feel something and care about something. Two weeks of calling for war and then nothing. I want to say something, but I don’t know…

I Just needed to feel something. I froze up and just sat there. I was hungry and had things to do. I don’t know. I just froze.

Sometimes, simply living is all I can do. I’m glad it’s not going to happen.

I wish the government was easier on us, because sometimes, living is all you can do.