HOMEGROWN, a creative event at Chadron Open Art in Chadron, Nebraska on September 5, 2026

I'll just be hanging with the current Poet Laureate of Nebraska and other creative minds in September.

No biggie😅 

That’s how I’ve described the upcoming event in Chadron, Nebraska.  I guess I’m bragging, but also downplaying it, like it’s no big deal.  It is a big deal though.  This opportunity feels like my words are  finally gaining a bit of traction since releasing my first ebook in 2013. 

Hopefully I won’t screw it up, but I also hope the attention doesn’t go to my head.  Becoming an insufferable hoity-toity would not be very becoming. 

NOTE TO SELF
I must remember 
The sun shining 
In my direction 
At this moment 
In this place 
During this time 
Is fleeting 
As a smile 
As a breath 
As life 
~~~~~~~~~~~~
2026, John L. Harmon 

Perhaps I’ll see you at Chadron Open Art on Saturday, September 5th in Chadron, Nebraska.  It should be an amazing experience! 

Freak Out, 
JLH 

P.S.  My readings will primarily be focused on VISION BENT (half-blind poems), which means I’ll be talking about my chunk of vision loss. 

A Short Story (a short story, of sorts)

    I stare, glare at the black screen through two pieces of plastic glass.  The white too bright to reflect, refract, magnify my muddled words.  Feeling the syllables crawling, scrawling beneath this growing older by the millisecond skin.  Verbal seeds screeching, reaching for the blinding sight of others to inhale, devour, clatter in their respective collective mindscape.  Fading away fingerprints scrolling through digital pages or tips bleeding from flipping sharp paper edges in a frenzy to discover meaning in nonsense and senselessness in moments.  Watering eyes, tears or sweat blurring lines of fictitious reality and really fiction until the happy or not end is reached, achieved.  My voice spent, digits numb from popping letters into place, trying to place the seen from my head onto the dark screen floating in depth, closer than appears but so far from the soul suffocating inside.  Circling the circles surrounding sighing eyes, unable to see what others claim to see inside out.  Inside me within the lines of a short story that may never come to be.

____________
2024, John L. Harmon 

Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words. 

Freak Out, 
JLH 

P.S.  Escape reality through my books available from an Amazon near you…

On Kilter (a poem, of sorts)

Coat me in the afterglow 
of words and faces 
I’ll never not know 
until electric synergy 
scratches from inside  
digging to the caverns 
where my true eye survives 
unfurling the lens-scape 
with magnetic flows 
caressing the kinetic level  
where only unconventionals go 

____________
2023, John L. Harmon 

Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words. 

Freak Out, 
JLH 

P.S.  

For your consideration…
The 5-🌟 review of STURGEONS (the complete serials) from My Gay Opinion on Amazon…

Front Seat Writer

 We now take you to a surprisingly good day...

My sister and I day-tripped to a nearby city to visit our oldest sister.  We had some time to kill, so we browsed around a few stores.  My sister purchased a sturdy and rather cool ice-scraper/snow brush.  I purchased a book for a friend and then became ridiculously excited by an apple-scented deodorant I've been wanting to try!  Don't even ask because I can't explain my unbridled joy over finally finding this personal hygiene product. 

While I was still floating in an apple-scented afterglow, we lunched with our oldest sister and her husband at Angus Burgers and Shakes. I told my sister she had to use the restroom before we left the restaurant because it's really cool.  Our oldest sister seemed to laugh at the idea but later agreed with me.  The sink's faucet is designed to resemble an old-time pump from a well.  The basin looks like it's lined with copper for that rustic ambiance.  I swear I need to start writing a coffee table book about cool and interesting public restrooms. 

Anyhoo, we picked up desserts and lunch for her youngest daughter and went back to our oldest sister's home.  My niece joined us at the dining room table and I asked about her online classes.  She is home from university thanks to COVID-19.  Even with this change of scene, she is studying many things, but we talked about two subjects near and dear to my freak heart...writing and filmmaking.

She told me all about a short film she wrote and directed. THE DOORWAY is about a door that randomly appears and one person is compelled to step through it.  There's humor, a sort-of love triangle and a dinosaur, so what else can you want?   I really enjoyed THE DOORWAY and there were creative elements that reminded me of me, just a little.  I will never tell my niece the latter because no 20 year-old wants to hear that from someone old.  However, she could actually be reading these words right now. 

Yes, I officially came out as a writer/blogger/indie author.  There wasn't a big , dramatic scene.  I just casually mentioned my books and this blog.  It felt right, but, of course, I downplayed my creative doings.  I didn't go to university to become a writer and I'm sure it shows. So, I have no idea what my niece will think of my work, if she explores my catalogue.  Hopefully she won't look upon my books & blogs with utter disdain.  Yet, a couple of previous posts here may be offensive/shocking and don't get me started on my books, especially DARK EXCURSIONS.

Oh well, at least my creative side isn't a dirty little secret anymore.  It feels good to free that side of myself and probably nothing will overly change because of it.  I'll continue to write and blog, always striving to capture my authentic freaky self and the rest of my family will continue to do what they do.

In conclusion, it is a remarkable sensation to discover a kindred creative spirit within my immediate family.  I believe my niece was surprised to learn that her generally quiet uncle has worlds within him.  I'm not even sure how much time passed but our conversation was more enjoyable than apple-scented deodorant.

I sincerely wish my niece success in her creative endeavors, while hopefully staying true to her voice and vision.  If you have 14 minutes to spare, please step through THE DOORWAY...

Click to enter

Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words.

SIDE NOTE: I didn't write this post while riding in the front seat, but it started to take shape as my sister and I traveled home.

Freak Out,

JLH

P.S.  When I was a backseat writer....

http://freakboyzone.blogspot.com/2019/03/backseat-writer.html 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My books & blogs...

http://thejlhcollective.blogspot.com/2018/03/the-collective.html  

Blogging like there's no tomorrow...

I have blogged through Google's directly named blog site Blogger since 2013.  I even found my way back to blogging after losing a chunk of my vision back in 2016.  It helped that Blogger's interface had not changed during my absence.  I knew which buttons to click because I had done it all before.

Now Blogger is changing.  A new interface is available and soon the old "Legacy" interface will disappear.  I've been experimenting with the new version and have been failing miserably.  Maybe it's my half-blind eyes, but the layout is confusing.  

The only thing I've managed to achieve in the new interface is typing the title.  I can't seem to locate where the body of the post will go. Logically, I know it should be beneath the post title, but I've tapped my tablet screen all over without success.  I also can't figure out how to view and edit previous posts.  Of course, because of all of these issues, I haven't a clue how to add pics & vids.

To top it all off, I can't zoom in by gently spreading two fingers apart on the screen.   The new interface is immovable, in that respect.  I see lots of screenshots in my future, assuming I solve my other Blogger probs.

I'm so frustrated that I need either a deep tisssue massage or a horse tranquilizer.  I know, I know.  Progress and all that crap.  Honestly, it seems the easier things are supposed to be, the more difficult they actually are.

So, I'll keep blogging here, using the "Legacy" interface, for as long as I can and I'll continue practicing with the new interface.  If I can't figure it out, perhaps I could try to make a fresh start through a different blogging site.  As The Brady Kids once advised...

🎵When it's time to change, you've got to rearrange, who you are into what you're going to be.🎵

Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words.

Freak Out, 

JLH 

P.S. The Collective Eye is open and popping in August! 

👁

https://thejlhcollective.blogspot.com/2020/08/the-collective-eye-august-2020.html  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My books & blogs...

http://thejlhcollective.blogspot.com/2018/03/the-collective.html   

Whatever Happened to the Boy Next Door?

    He glances at the clock.  Its incessant ticking is a reminder of missed opportunities and wasted years.  He once seemed full of life, vibrating with potential.  Now he sits alone at the kitchen table, waiting.

    The rejection letters scattered before him draw his attention away from the pounding clock.  He finally tried, after lingering in a paralytic state of mind.  Now he wonders how long one should keep trying, which is why he waits.

    A swig from the vodka bottle clutched in his left hand should burn his throat, but physical pain has long since been muted.  All that remains is the emotional remnants of a failed life.  He takes another swig and looks at the deafening clock.  Now he knows the waiting is over, cocking the gun gripped in his right hand. 

____________________

(This piece of flash fiction was inspired by a recent selfie.)

Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words.

Freak Out, 

JLH 

P.S.  A recent poem...

https://freakboyzone.blogspot.com/2020/04/soul-searching-breakfast-pastry-micro.html 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Twitter thread of blogs & music...

https://twitter.com/jlh_collective/status/1245288246449446912?s=21 

Backseat Writer

We now take you to a dramatic scene that would shape a young freakboy's familial interactions for decades to come.

The location - An expansive living room of a beautiful home nestled on the outskirts of a scenic Colorado town 

NON-RELATIVE: What do you want to be when you grow up? 

YOUNG FREAKBOY (around 14 years of age): An author. 

RELATIVE (in a horrified screech): You can't do that! 

~end scene~

Also, end of this freakboy bringing up his writing or any creative project around certain family members.  Even now, years later, I just can't bring myself to broach the topic.

I was with most of my immediate family on Sunday.  It was a nice dinner and a chance to see a niece before her, her husband and their unborn son move to Florida.  I couldn't bring myself to mention my recent achievement of VISION BENT and I had the opportunity.  A different niece was talking about poetry, but I bit my tongue.  I had a chance to at least mention this blog because she talked about preferring unrealistic writing to the kind that requires research.  Still, Uncle Freakboy remained mute.  Ok then, let us never refer to myself in that way again.

Yes, I know that I shouldn't allow one moment from forever ago to haunt and control me.  Perhaps it's not strictly that one moment.  History has shown me how whatever I may accomplish will never be good enough.  Instead of being happy that I defied my perceived disability and published VISION BENT, the conversation would turn to the sordid topic of coin, effectively ruining my accomplishment.  Then, if my creative endeavor was read, the screeching would be unstoppable, at least legally.  Before you give the allegedly simple act of telling the screecher to shut-up, the screeching wouldn't really end, it would just be transferred.  My sister Margaret would then receive the screeching, as our mom once did.  Screeching by proxy.  So, it's just easier not to.  

Sure, my nieces and nephew have grown up not really knowing me.  Without my creative side, I am nothing.  An empty carton.  An erased chalkboard.  A flushed toilet.  Maybe they see me as their half-blind, loser uncle who only talks about television and films.  Even those topics are censored.  A discussion of my love of John Waters would be most unwelcome and very awkward.  I dare not mention Rosemary's Baby being my favorite film or risk receiving unsolicited religious screeching.  Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating the latter, but soul-saving  pamphlets could arrive in my mail.  At least my half-blind eyes wouldn't be able to read them.

I don't  know.  Maybe this blog, along with my books, are my safe space.  My exotic getaway from everyday life.  My real home.  Perhaps I don't want to voluntarily put out the welcome mat.  If my nieces and nephew stumble upon my online home, either by accident or some other relative mentioning it, then they are most welcome to visit my mindscape and learn all about their authentically freaky and multi-layered Uncle John. 

Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words. 

Side note...I'm typing this while riding in the backseat on the way home from the aforementioned family dinner, but I will probably not post it until Monday.  I'm not sure I'll try to ride & write again.  The sensation makes me feel a bit queasy...or maybe it's just family dinners.

Freak out, 

JLH

P.S.  The first reader of the VISION BENT paperback resides in St. Ives, Cornwall, England!  Yeah, baby, I'm an internationally known indie author!  ;)

https://thejlhcollective.blogspot.com/2019/01/vision-bent-half-blind-poems.html