Slipping Away

Slipping Away



On March 1, 1991, I checked into a hotel room with my new wife. Yes, it was our Honeymoon. Our first night together as man and wife. It’s funny, I don’t even remember how we paid for things back then. I didn’t have a credit card. Debit cards were in their infancy. I may have written a check, which seems absurd now, but I really don’t remember. What I do remember is what the young lady behind the desk ask me.

“Are you a member of any discount groups like AARP?”

That stands for American Association of Retired Persons. It was for old people. I looked to see if there was a laugh hiding behind the question. There wasn’t. She was dead serious.

I looked at my new wife and just shook my head. Poor girl, I guess I thought. I know she’s just asking a question on a form that she had to, but, hell, look at us. I am twenty-five years old. Do I look like I need to be a member of AARP? I thought it was funny.

Time creeps, though. Creeps like the lava of a slowly erupting volcano, starting out in the distance, just biding its time, so slowly at first you dare ignore it thinking there’s no way it can get me. Of course, it’s gotten everyone else over the course of recorded and unrecorded history, but I am different. I am not going to be gotten.

But time doesn’t care what I think. It moves forward. It creeps. Just like the lava, it eventually consumes everything in its path, burning it up until it’s gone. It doesn’t care that I work out, run, read, go to church. It doesn’t care that I have learned to conserve energy and get more work done that even when I was a younger man. It cares about none of those things.

The lava of time just keeps on creeping, steady and true, oozing forward, taking y life one second at a time. By the time I first felt the heat of the lava time, I know it is too late. There is nowhere to run. There never was. It will get me eventually.

My lava caught up with me just last week. I came in from work one afternoon and there it was, sitting on the counter, laughing its ass off at me.

A promotional envelope from AARP.

That’s not fair.

I am still twenty-five.

What in the hell just happened?

I thought of that little girl behind the desk of the hotel I had checked into all those years ago, how funny it was when she asked me if I was a member of AARP. What a laugh my wife and I had shared over that one.

Only I wasn’t laughing so much.


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So You Wrote a Story

So You Wrote a Story


Okay. Now it’s done. After the hours, weeks, or months of hard work and mental sweat depending on the length of your story, it is finally complete. You have a beer, a cigarette or do whatever it is you do to commemorate your great accomplishment, then you go about the business of getting your great accomplishment out for all the world to see.

Now what?

This is where I, the artist who is still waiting to be discovered, am no different from the artists of the world who have been discovered and now their very livelihood depends upon acceptance of their great accomplishment.

We submit and we wait.

We wait see how your great accomplishment will be accepted.

That’s when the whole thing gets dicey, as they say. Because what is a great accomplishment in your mind and what is great a great accomplishment in the mind of others is a subjective thing, so very subjective as to be undefinable.

Is a great accomplishment acceptance? If so, at what level? How many times have you heard a movie, song, or novel was released to great critical acclaim only to be kicked to the side by the viewing public? The paying public! How many times have you heard the same works be soundly rejected by the critics only to be wildly accepted by the same paying public? Or is it a great accomplishment merely because you deem it to be so?

What is more important? I guess is depends on what you the artist are seeking, but the larger point is still that artistic success is not necessarily measurable unless you define the expectations.

Is it great because it is what you wanted it to be?

It is great because you expected great critical acclaim?

It is great because you expected great commercial success?

In the end, only you can decide if the work you do is satisfactory to you. If it is for any of the reasons detailed above, then move on the next project.

If it is not for any of the reasons detailed above, then either find ways to get in line with your expectations or redefine them.

What is your definition of a successful work?







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Just a Moment of Pause

Hello all,

I have been away for sometime now. I just kind of got out of the habit and I  want to try get back in. I have a thought or two on this Easter Sunday, inspired somewhat by the late, great Bill Hicks, a comedian that I hold in high esteem.

The words I write are summarized and, if somehow incorrect, the error is mine.

I am reminded of part of his monologue where he was happy to announce that he had just returned from Australia and happy to report that Australia celebrated the crucifixion and resurrection of our Lord and Savior in the same manner that the United States did, by teaching them that a giant bunny delivers toys to children in the middle of the night.

So then I got to thinking. What are we teaching our children? Upon his birth, we teach them that a fat man with a white beard, driving a magic sleigh with flying reindeer deliver toys all over the world to good little boys and girls. Upon his death and rebirth we introduce them to the Easter Bunny.

Before you get excited, I am not dogging on anyone’s religion. I count myself as one who believes in the teachings of Jesus and understand that both of the aforementioned practices are symbolic only. I also understand that all those who do follow Him will take the time to teach the true meaning of both seasons to their children.

Still, don’t they both seem a little silly?

I hope this is taken in the good spirit in which it was intended.

Happy Easter to all.






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Bless Me Lord

Bless Me Lord


Bless me Lord

For I have sinned

I followed my heart

And defiled myself again


I freed the thing

You placed in me

That struggled within

Demanding to be free


Bless me Lord

To not be weak

To stand up to those

Who despise and call me freak


Bless me Lord

I have not sinned

I know my own heart

Is not the devil’s den


Bless them Lord

For they don’t know

What it is they do

Free them Lord from hate’s hold




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Alone – For Those on the Road



Alone, so utterly empty and cold

His family a thousand miles away

Both husband and dad

Feeling tattered and old


Ahead, the wandering, snaking gray road

His destiny ahead ruled the day

Now tired eyes and sad

Feels less brazen and bold


No tears, the provider, carries his load

His duties are clear, bill to pay

Things aren’t so bad

Time to rise, do as you’re told


Tim Keen



Please check out my collection of short stories on Amazon.




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Our Love

Our Love



The power of our love is intense


 Though its meaning is not quite known


But when done, our passions are well spent


We linger in our tryst


Our husbands and wives left all alone


And turn again to us, their feelings we dismiss


If our love cannot be set a sea

To rise and fall against the waves

Then our hungering must be set free

It is ours to dismiss

And husbands and wives asleep at home

We turn again to us and revel in this bliss


Tim Keen









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Our Turn

Our Turn


So tomorrow’s the day we all will cry

We must go on so now we’ll try

To celebrate the moments of your life

While we console your grieving wife

Too many times we follow the trend

And turn in pain to our friends

And cry together, our arms entwined

While we wait for our turn to die


Rest in Peace, Larry


Tim Keen


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