Tate Publishing LLC - AWriter's Dream?

~Built-In GPS~

As the title of my other blog site; Way Out Wisdoms (http://way-out-wisdoms.blogspot.com/)represents the initials "W.O.W." I am almost devastated as to how awesome things align, and are laid upon our path like breadcrumbs for us to navigate our way to a higher calling.

Today, my wife; Terri was browsing videos, playing around on the net, and stumbled upon a gentleman's blog. She then reads a portion of his walk, and his bio, and finds an eerie similarity to Yours Truly.

He too was a writer, and his description of writing in itself is equal to, if not almost exacting to my experience, with the exception he's published and successful, whereas, I am digging myself out from beneath the wreckage, and the carnage of 6 years of this festering, and rather uncontrolled passion for writing.

While, I mean not write a bio of my own, it lead to me reading his, and clicking a link, which took me to Tate Publishing.

As my wife, friends, and a few complete strangers have had the pleasure to be entertained by some of my works, they center around equality, educating ourselves, abolishing ignorance, and the attributes associated to the pestilence abroad stalling our individual growth, and forward movement toward achieving the 'essence' of freedom.

In short, I didn't plan to share this rather personal information, but my insatiable appetite for writing began after a 'spiritual encounter' some 6 years prior. In my own confusion, this scared me, as I was generally a very honest, yet rather apathetic person by nature.

Ever since the transformation began 6 years ago, my writings have taught me to a degree, whereby, many of the items I found myself writing about were of no interest, nor had I any formal training, schooling, or remote understanding of their deeper seeded meaning, or messages.

In truth, this still kinda haunts me to this very moment, as I am perplexed to imagine; "Who's gonna listen, or better still, read what I have to share?"

In reflection, I had always had a fondness for the arts, regarding paintings, drawings, graphics, and of course as technology now presents computer animations, artwork, and phenomenal visual depictions of a vast multitude of creative and insightful minds.

But, entering the work force, fueling the standard 'capitalistic' desires, I abandoned my childhood dream of ever becoming and artist, or so I had thought.

Somehow, it was always there. Even for the 16 years while I was a self-employed swimming pool sub-contractor, freelancing my abilities to build, design, construct,renovate, and repair fountains, hot tubs, waterfalls, and lastly commercial and residential pools, the artist in me was thriving, though I didn't really know it.

Everything from the trenching for which the pipe would lay, I would meticulously ensure they were carved in near perfection. In fact, many people would laugh at me, and ask; "Art...Who cares what the trenches, or piping looks like, it's going to be buried in dirt, no ones ever gonna see it, or care either way!"

My response; "I care! The customer is paying top dollar for quality workmanship, and so then they deserve the best."

Ironically, to my own humility, almost everyone of my competitor's and friends in the biz' were making 2-3X the money I was making, because they were 'slapping' their work together, solely focusing on the 'prize'-MONEY!

Despite having billed more than double on a per job per dium than them, and earning a respectable rep in the industry as one of the best in the trade, I was going broke, while they were getting rich!

My point being, although the experience was great, and to this day I have fresh ideas, and an endless imagination for building exquisite works concerning waterfalls, lighting, hot tubs, cave style lagoon's and backyard paradises, it was the artist in me that made the experience less a chore, and fun. Regardless of the money!

The trip of this journey, led me to Tate Publishing, which I've since requested more information regarding publishing, but literally blows my mind how it left me to question; "accident? or "fate?"

I'm leaning towards the latter, as I do not believe in accidents, therefore; everything happens for a reason. I found the Tate Publishing Site so welcoming, that I thought it needed to be shared. Below in my 'favorites link's a link directed you to their home page. If you are a writer, and a person who maintains a Higher faith, and your seeking publishing, I recommend checking them out.

Meanwhile, I am working on a series of chapters of a manuscript right now, whereby, I am intending to post pieces, or perhaps a few chapters here, before submitting it to Tate Publishing, LLC.

In closing, I suggest reading all the information on their site thoroughly, as I elected to include them in my blog purely out of respect, having done so myself. Hence, I have no direct affiliation with them, but if my heart is correct, based on the positive vibe I received this morning leading me to them... then, I expect to be publishing with them in the near future.

Godspeed,

Art Moran

P.S.- "If your eyes are open to your hearts true desires,you, like I will be guided accordingly"

Who Am I?

I am no more a poet, nor artist, than I am a no-bull truth. I am a spoof, aloof in a conquest to appease my hungry soul. I am ugly, as the world has labeled me so. I am no more a scientist, then I am fascinated by the ominous mysteries abroad. I am a writer, a smoker, a sinner entwined. I am a 37 year old child inside, and of sort. In a moment, I am of mind, body, and soul, whereas, I am constantly challenged, even perplexed to understand why the three cannot get along. I am cynical, and infused with thoughts of anger and lust. From murder to orgy's, I am a 'free-thinker' whose mind has been enticed by it all.

I am a student determined not to stand corrected by teachers who profess they know all. I am a believer in a higher power, but repulsed by many who abuse the sacred understanding of old. I am conflicted, constricted, and confounded, wadded up in a fetal position, - scared shit less of the abuses I've been inflicted with, without provocation, merit, nor any truth at all. I am blackened on the outside, when my internal light burns ever-bright.But then I am black on the inside when I am insulted for having been born white. I am a son, and a father. I am a friend to one, and the enemy to another over whom I long to devastate, abuse, and devour!

I am imperfect, this much I know. Yet, I am bent on ideals and seeking all which my hands may never lay hold. I am living to die, while I am dying to just live. I am a giver, a taker, and all points between. I am a traveler, alone in a world I do not know. I am accepted by one, and then denounced of my throne. I am a servant, a follower, a mere laborer of sort. I am afraid to let loose my imagination, my talents, for to do so, then I am sure my passions will be enslaved, tripped up, and imprisoned of course. My love is a chore I am lazy to accept.

I am fueled by fire, enticed by evil, and I am also at the product at times of it's alluring grip. I am forgiving, patient, and tolerant in one hand. Yet, I am completely fed up the next. I am love and hate all balled up in one.I am bent on immortalizing my efforts in time, to leave behind my troubled mind, my sufferings, and all I've documented for another to find.I am tired, growing weary, scary, and offensive. I am sick of this nightmare, cause my dreams have no end, nor measure, means, or mode - should I invest my hope to obtain!

I am raped, ravished, beat down, broken, victimized, and abused. But, I am not sure what is best, better bet, I am impart grateful to have survived the beatings I've took. I am pride, I am true. I am the epitome of everyone, everything, and every place which has touched me, whether by welcomed acceptance, denial, intrusion, or by my own amuse. I am entertained. I am sadly misconceived. I am the ultimate recipe of old ingredients formulated to flavor your tongue.

I am the ringing in your ears, the whispering voice you remember from the past. I am at peace. I am at rest. I am free to roam to and fro, upon this rock called earth. I am impart good, yet equally evil! I am fond of beauty, and equally intimidated by it too. I am someones dream. I am anothers nightmare.I am deathly in need of socks, undies, and a new pair of shoes! I am broke in the moment, not a penny to abuse.

I am laughing because I am filthy rich in spirit. With courage I allowed everyone to steal my things, whilst they afforded me the silent truth, the strength missing in all of you. I am a dog. I am a bitch. I am the leash that leads you, feeds you, and the master who makes you dance on my strings. I am the jester entertaining kings. I am Daniel, my interpretations fall on deaf ears. I am the lost who's been found longing to let go.

I am the recipient of divine messages, to wit, I haven't the strength, nor the ability to deliver, nor transcend. I am speechless, teachless, turning a deaf ear. I am struck silent - for fear I might speak! I am a travel agent - come book a flight. I am the eagle who sees through your weakness, and feeds on your strength. I am the line drawn in the sand, the one that starts with the word birth, and ends with death!

I am the matter, pay me no mind. I am the philosophically twisted linguist who's able to blow your fucking mind with a riddle, conundrum, or rhyme. I am sorry for being an asshole, while according to some I am the piece of shit this time.

I am full of ambition, intentions, and love. I am a slave to sex, and my selfish indiscretions, and the spawn thereof. I am the arch angel fighting the diabolical evil hordes.Then I am confronted by the red-dragon seeking vengeance and ownership over my soul.I am the welder of the sword found in my hand, but have no use for it, as I am the know.I am aware my pen holds more power than the bloodied edges of my tongue. I am too tired to raise the finger too which I receive the answers to thoughts, but never needed be spoken out.

I am one. I am the division Jesus spoke of. I am the principle interests of mathematical norms. Hence, I am to believe; multiplication is the exacting infraction of the divided abroad. I am tired of writing. I am the soliloquy, the aesthetic values thereby, and thereof. I am not for sale. But, I am the wind which blows wisdom's into the ship's sails, as I've chartered the oceans blue. I am a sound man, I love to listen and be harmoniously infused by the ambiance-like embrace of the echoes I've long forgotten about back in the daze of amniotic fluid.

I am the drop-out on a mission to prove; education is an equation not learned in books. I am the experience, the breath of life in the valley of dry bones. I am the whipping boy who courageously forgives the flogging, of the anger, as it escaped by my father's Vietnam wrought belt. I am the alcoholic drowning his sorrow, as I am seeking to escape, whilst pissing away tomorrow.

I am and have been all these things, but if you hear me, then feel me - cause we're all the same! I am the equality - the balance I am. I am never finished, nor yet begun, never ending, and already gone!

Don't you get it? - Don't you see? - Can anyone hear me? Does anyone out there feel they don't belong here like me?

For I am an alien trapped on this rock, locked in this skin, yet still... I don't feel that I've lived! I am whatever I choose! Love it, like it, hate it, just leave me fucking be! For all the while I believe in you all, still you patronize me by your arrogant displays of conformity!

Even still, despite all the labels, scales, and societal bliss, I am FREE above all else, and to think, I wrote this without a single thought, effort, or concern for what anyone say? does? or thinks?

Peace Out, Stop by again, next time it'll be something, but not poetry!

Art M.