The Ross Letters

June 13, 2019


Creative writing isn’t just something you walking in and fucking do.  It could be months before you are able to work on a project again.  The ideas could go away altogether if you get interrupted.

That’s what happened to me.  Motherfuckers kept interrupting me, and me beating my head against the wall every day knocked all of the thoughts and ideas out of it.

My brain hasn’t refilled yet, so maybe I should go play video games for a few hours.  I wonder how many more days I can do that and still convince myself that I deserve it.

We’ll see!

Iron Paul

May 28, 2019

May 28, 2019


In spite of what a rabidly anti-outdoors person I have been for most of my life, I am about to try my hand at a little bit of landscaping.  Yesterday, my wife and I bought some waterlilies and guppies and put them in these two huge clay pots we had.  This prompted me to root around for what other planters and tools were laying around, and before long it was past sunset and I had to quit for the day.  I was dirty, I was tired, and I felt remarkably satisfied.

I suppose this is a natural progression.  I’m done with academia, and I also seem to be *fingers crossed* done with the 9 to 5 world, so I need to start taking on more hobbies.  Sure, comic books and video games are hobbies, but they never seem to do anything other than kill time.  I never feel better after a stretch of gaming like I did yesterday after working in the heat and the mud.

I have to stop fucking around so much.  Killing time by sitting around is largely responsible for my shitty moods and my overall dissatisfaction.  My exercise regimen was a good start, but my day needs far more activity if I am ever going to pull myself out of this mental rut.  Things are in the works, so I can’t really do too much, but I always have the option of going out and playing in the yard.


april 28, 2019


laughter, sun, and exercise.  i need more of all of these.  i have plenty of love, but that does not help burn any calories when my wife is somewhere else.  plus, i couldn’t drag all of my gym equipment to america.

regardless, i had a lot of all three yesterday, and i need to find those moments more often before i have a fucking stroke.


April 23, 2019


I really enjoy the glob of resin that occasionally forms in the neck of my bong.

My dear friend, Matthew:
I lament that you are bald,
but have you tried hats?

Fine Young Cannibals
had one or two catchy songs,
but their name was weird.

Elephants don’t care.
They will take your lunch money
and poop on your shoes.

Think of your fellow man.  Lend him a helping hand.  Put a little love in your heart.

And the world,

March 28, 2019


When I was in Kindergarten, we would have these little assemblies where we would have guests.  Sometimes the guests would talk about safety, sometimes they would talk about good habits, but this one time, Matthew… this one time some kids came out and they showed us karate.

My old man watched Chuck Norris from the time I was able to focus on a television screen, so I loved karate.  Five-year-old Pete watched in wide-eyed amazement as these older kids threw coordinated kicks and shouted all in unison.  I was mesmerized.

What struck me even more was that there were girls doing karate.  I was so happy to see that having karate as a pre-requisite for my future wife was not off the table.  I figured the odds of survival as an adult were better if you both knew how to throw a kick.  Neither of my parents knew karate, so somebody needed to take the initiative.

At the end of the demonstration, the karate students all lined up, and they each broke a board.  The students were lined up from the shortest to tallest, so as they cycled through the students, the complexity of the board breaking increased.  For the finale, it was a very tall, masculine girl who broke a total of three boards in a flurry so impressive that young Pete nearly peed his young pants.

After the demonstration, I went through and shook the hands of every one of these mighty warriors.  The youngest one was not much older than I was, though the oldest was in seventh grade.  I understood now that karate wasn’t just for Chuck Norris.  It was a gift I could potentially have.  These kids were just normal kids like I was, and there they were:  kicking, shouting, and breaking wood.  I knew that I would have to learn karate one day.

As we were being led down the the stage where all the karate kids were, there was a board on the side for everyone to look at.  This was the exact same type board that all the kids were breaking.  My classmates would pick it up, a few of them even trying to punch the board in an effort to break it.  What poseurs, I thought to myself.

The teacher took the board out of the hands of one of my classmates, and leaned it up against the wall.  Holy crap.  This was so perfect.  I had to see for myself if I had the gift.

I casually walked up to the board like I intended on walking by.  However, at the last second, I twisted my body and positioned myself with my right foot facing the board.  I pulled back, and I kicked down with all of my might.  With a satisfying crunch, the board broke cleanly in half.

I knew it.

My teacher very quickly came up and collected the pieces.  I calmly asked her if she saw what I had done.  She said she did, but it was an accident.  The kids on stage practiced for years to break their boards.  I broke mine by mistake.  A lot of people tried breaking it before you, anyways.  The board was probably weak.

But I didn’t listen to her.  I broke that board just like I had set out to do.  I copied what I saw my new heroes doing, and the board couldn’t help but shatter under the force of my technique.

She said it was an accident, but I knew better.

I know karate.


March 20, 2019


In a cold, cold apartment on the water.  It’s one of those spots that have always been for transients, even back in high school.  A big house, with a small house on the side.  That’s where I am, the side.

My host is manic.  He’s an old friend, and I know he’s on uppers.  He does weird shit.  I threw out a bunch of food that expired in 2016, and throughout the night he dug through the trash can and put everything back.  he told me that dates don’t mean anything and that we shouldn’t waste food.

But there’s hot water and a good bed.  I slept a lot last night, and I will probably sleep another ten hours when I lay down again.  My body is screaming that it has had enough.

Everything takes so long to accomplish.  It has taken a lot of patience to get to my stopping points.  It’s just a dash right now between living situations.  I’m getting too old for this shit.

The pot is good, though.  You can’t even find regular weed anymore.  Everything is from Colorado or California.  Everything is like a kick in the head.

And thank God for that, by the way.  It’s tough out there.  I’m glad people have stopped being so uptight about pot, even in the states where it is not legal.

Now it’s balls-thirty in the morning, and I can’t figure out whether to lie down or try and get some editing done.  Either way, it will have to be another after a long, hot shower.

I guess I’ll do some work.  A little more coffee and some hot water should clear the fog and frustration from another needlessly difficult day.  It looks as though I have now entered the kind of schedule I kept in grad school.  It’s oddly comforting.  Maybe now I can finally get some work done.

All smooches, no… pooches?

February 27, 2019


I’m writing this letter from my business class seat en route to Seoul. It isn’t very crowded, and everyone seems to be passed out except for me. There’s a rather obese woman next to me snoring.

Every time a stewardess walks by, they hurry and avoid eye contact. I think I’m supposed to be asleep like everyone else. But I don’t sleep on planes, Matthew. I just don’t. Flying is already weird enough. There’s no way in hell in closing my eyes. I just wish one of these gals would bring me some damn coffee.

They gave me some weird pickled vegetable tart right after takeoff. I keep having to get up and let out my farts in the lavatory. Still, I wish they’d bring me another one. It was actually very good.

I was watching a movie, but the headphones were too tight. They were giving me a headache. I suppose I’ll just read… right after I go release a few more farts.

Break wind,


December 26

December 26, 2018


Yesterday I ate a bunch of weed cookies and played video games all day.  My wife got me a fitness tracker watch for Christmas.  It was freakin rad.

Somebody please tell 19-year-old Pete everything is going to turn out OK.  I know how scared that poor fucker must be.

Iron Paul, from Space

November 23


I tell myself every day that these are the “good old days.”  These will be the days my mind returns to as my memory begins to fade.  I will remember only that I loved and that I was loved, and I will find comfort and solace in those memories until I am laid to rest.

Life is not sad.  Life is fucking amazing.


November 10


I am riding in a cab to go out for the day. A few minutes ago, we drove past an alley. For whatever reason, I turned and looked down the alley, and somehow I managed to catch a man pissing by his car. One second later, we drove past a concrete statue of a nude man.

Now, I don’t know why the universe decided to show me two dicks like that, but it’s got me really wary of this day.

I’m going to try to just keep my eyes fixed forward.

Enjoy your day,