Mr. Ian M. Belcurry

My name is Brian McElmurry. I like literature and skateboarding. My novella Rocket Man was recently published as an Ebook by Thought Catalog
dlavio:

POPI …nose Wheeling to hippy jump . …le hangar 34

dlavio:

POPI …nose Wheeling to hippy jump . …le hangar 34

Franklyn on my lap staring at his bone on my knee

Franklyn on my lap staring at his bone on my knee

I’ve been wondering this for a while

Are brown boots on business women the new conspicuous consumption?
Does having new brown boots mean you have money and the means to meet the demands of fashion?
New tight jeans or leggings and brown boots meaning the women is of a social and class distinction.
Does wearing an American flag sweater or wind breaker make you white trash?
Yes, it does, all of this.
Art is free, life is expensive, but time costs money and art takes time.
I guess art isn’t free.
You are currently paying with time to read this, you 1 or 3 ppl.
Do you own nice brown boots?
The bus driver says hi very nicely.

Franklyn was eating grass, Friday evening on the way to the liquor store

Franklyn was eating grass, Friday evening on the way to the liquor store

Golden Morning Bus Ride to Work

I want to watch the Rose Parade, it makes me feel like a child.
I want to feel the moisture of the beach breeze, the safe January warmth and sun of Southern California.
I want the silence and comfort of tan carpets and dad and siblings away.
I want the ride from the mammoth area to Southern California through dried lakes that used to have river boats float across to now ghost towns.
I want to sit in soft grass and read while my father or brother fly fish, the golden sun, the languid day, the peace that existed in that moment.
I want to hear my brother talk shit and laugh after taking a drink of beer.
I want the laughter after drinks and joints of an impromptu party, or when my best friend and I, very high, couldn’t stop laughing because my dad had sent me a nut and fruit tray for Christmas.
I want to watch TV with my mom and dad.

yellow slappy curbs are calling me

On the way to therapy I drove past a group of young college kids in front of an art institute building, all dressed in black, as if for some performance. I thought one of them was Steve Roggenbuck, and kept looking back, thinking, “that hair, it could be him.”
I googled his twitter while I waited for my therapist and it wouldn’t load quick enough because I have too many pictures on my iphone.
In therapy, I felt even more depressed as we spoke of my depression and negative cognition, and how I need to take care of myself and not tell myself such horrible things and ways I can be happier and live a better life.
At home I got in bed and read some thought catalog, Clair Mott, and then googled Steve Roggenbuck’s twitter and he had no mention of being in Denver.
I thought it would be cool to see him read or perform with whomever whatever.
I missed him here once because I didn’t have a smart phone or home Internet at the time.
When I type words, I feel less depressed, but feel all I can share is my depression but want to share more and have ideas but get down and second guess myself when I sit down to finalize an essay, or submit something, and I know because I’m depressed my perception is skewed and maybe tomorrow I can not be so down about myself.
I want to start skateboarding again, but my thigh muscle hurts and aches because I pulled it 2 years ago, and that is my negative cognition, when in reality if I do certain physical therapy things and strengthen muscles, I can skateboard and be cool, but need to do that.
I skateboarded to the store a month ago, when the snow melted.
I love sidewalk surfing and the yellow slappy curbs are calling me.
The dog is happy, at least