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On this beautiful August morning, I find myself focused on my soul. God has been at the at the front of my mind for a while now, tugging gently at my spirituality. Having just read My Trip Down the Pink Carpet by Leslie Jordan, I feel less alone in the world than I was starting to feel.

I have some of the best friends one could hope to have. Not only have I been able to retain a whole host of occasional friends from Oklahoma, people with whom I never need to catch up, but love spending time with when I have a chance, but I’ve made some amazing new friends in Alaska. These Alaskan friends are the most giving, warmest people I’ve ever known. But as far as my own faith goes, I cannot begin to relate to any of them.

At best, I’d lump the majority of my friends into the agnostic category. But that is such a religious term. I don’t care for it because it seems to imply a deficiency on their part. And it isn’t them I see as the issue. Although they were all raised Christian, it seems that Christianity failed each of them in some way, keeping them from retaining faith in faith. And to me that is infuriating. It is a clear sign to me of the common treatment of people who insist on being individuals — those who seem to have no choice but to live outside the parameters of strict Christian thought. I’m not only talking about my gay friends whose persecution is well documented, but of anyone whose life doesn’t fit into the idyllic dream of the conservative Christian community.

However, these same non-religious people who I love so much are the ones who make my soul shine brighter than those people I spent years worshiping with. They are my spiritual base. They are some of the most healing and spiritual people I’ve known in my life and recognizing that would do wonders for the religious community.

I often feel like I exist far beyond the norms of any group I’d possibly belong to. But why do I long to belong to a group, to be categorized? That is a silly notion and I do understand that. I’m going to try to be myself more than I have been… and by whatever means I need to… and with or without the support of others. I only know how to be me the way I am.

Jonathan helped to define my belief. Perhaps I need everyone to show me how to get there. Daniel, David, Heather, Denis, Justin, Travis, JD, Kendra… everyone has something to offer and as a whole, it all seems to work together.

Take Back the Word :: Robert E. Gross and Mona West {2000}
My Trip Down the Pink Carpet :: Leslie Jordan {2008}
Stranger at the Gate :: Mel White {1995}

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Brent hit 30 and I didn’t have the means to call and wish him a happy birthday. And so, rather than that I wish him an entire year full of unimaginable joys. I’m ready to confess my jealousy. It has always lurked there, but I’ve tried to deny it for too long. Brent is making his life happen himself. I’m still muddling through, waiting for someone to help me out. Brent has a family. I want a family and find it harder than I thought it would be. Congratulations to Brent for achieving successes I still wait to start dreaming of. I admire you (and blushed on admitting it).

David & Daniel celebrate six months together today. I am so happy for them, but as I’ve said before, I’d like to be even happier for them, but loneliness requires that I harbor just a little bit of spite for their love. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so. And I know they both know I love them to itty bitty pieces. Congratulations to the lovebirds.

Stan celebrates a birthday tomorrow. I don’t often know what to say to someone like Stan. His life is an embarrassment of riches and is so richly embarrassing at the same time, but that doesn’t keep me from fantasizing about having his life. It seems to be what I want and so I wish I could be more like him everyday, but I pray that if I ever start to become him, my brothers warn me and keep me from it. I do envy Stan’s happiness with Michael. Congratulations to him for becoming the best version of himself he can be.

And on an unrelated note:

This Journey Seems Long

Possibility falls like feathers,
gently landing on my head with me barely taking notice.
I think I felt something and life rushes past me,
my feet cemented in this moment.
I’m a statue, a gargoyle,
a testament to following dreams, even as I failed myself.
I’m unfolding myself and trying desperately.
Thirty is ugly for a child like me.
I’m a work in progress —
confused, lonely, surrounded.

8.14.2008Continue Reading

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or, So Lonely I Wish the People Could Stay Underwater

I have no intention of giving in and joining the ever-growing ranks who are reading Twilight Saga. I have no interest and any inkling of interest I had was slain by the sheer volume of requests I receive daily about these books. It is too much. And that is a common relationship I have with books. Once an author or title reaches uber-popular status, I lose all notions of reading them. This silliness has kept me from reading Christopher Moore, Chuck Palahniuk, Augusten Burroughs, and even the latest David Sedaris book. George R. R. Martin, Robert Jordan, Robert Ludlum, and Ian Fleming all make a similar list, but it is the subject matter I really don’t care for. I’ve only recently decided that it is okay to read Harry Potter and His Dark Materials books, but I’ll still keep it a bit quiet when I do. I don’t really know why that is, but I recognize that it is a bit silly.

Perhaps the best thing to do in this situation is to list all the authors who I am only avoiding because of their ridiculous popularity and read one title by each and be done with it. They do have to be popular for a reason, right? Although, that is the same sort of illogic that could get me into some trouble, if I was to start reading Janet Evanovich or J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts). I’ll just try to not make that sort of mistake.

Meanwhile, as they say*, I’ve finished The Monsters of Templeton. It is amazingly well written. I’d pretty much recommend it to anyone. I did find that on those nights when I was really sleepy, but not so much to fall asleep, and I would try to read a chapter of Lauren Groff’s book, I would easily get confused or lost in her genealogical trek. By the end, there were a few ends that were tied up in surprising ways (for me). That didn’t make the book any less enjoyable. Far from it.

*”meanwhile, as they say…” is uttered by Julia Child during one of shows. Makes me smile.Continue Reading

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Birth

And now, this 29th time around the sun is coming to an end.
My trips seems less celebratory than ever, but somehow more satisfying.
I enter the final year of my 20s this very second.
It isn’t a disconnection, it isn’t loss.
Life seems to have only just begun.

8.5.2008 (written at the minute of my birth, 9:01a.m. AKDT; 12:01p.m. CDT)

I’ve begun my 30th trip. How is it that my birthday always feel a little different from other days? I suppose I’ve wondered that before, but leading up to today I really thought that this birthday, more than any other, would feel like just an ordinary day. Perhaps it is the cold I’ve had or the frustration of life not going the way it is supposed to go, but things haven’t been as merry as I’d like. Today, that seems to have changed. I am still waiting for adulthood — or the realization of — to smack me in the face.

My day started beautifully. I had decided to not go over to David & Daniel’s last night after they called and told me they were going to bed instead (the initial plan had been to go over there), but I decided that I wanted the change of scenery. The first minutes of the day were spent rediscovering what it is like to be outside in the dark. It seems like it has been a long time since that happened, with the longer days of summer. It even struck me as odd that it would be dark at midnight. Daniel got up to join me while I used the computer at their house, which was nice. I stayed a couple hours, then came home and slept for a bit. Since waking up this morning, I’ve spent the day updating poems that I had written earlier this year. I’ve also done a tiny bit of writing today, but more editing. Let me know what you think of the revised versions. I think I finally am getting “Whale” where it needs to be. Also, is this “more” thing annoying or not?Continue Reading

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Summer reappeared briefly (I assume). It was a beautiful July 31, all of which I spent at work. Even during my lunch, I stayed inside enjoying soup I hoped would chase away the cold I’m desperately trying to not get. Thanks to the pusher at work today who slipped me a Mucinex D. It was a glorious hour of medicine-head bliss, perhaps the best hour of my day.

Of all worthless endeavors, I have appointed myself Ambassador to Serendipity, compiling information and researching release dates for the entire series penned by Stephen Cosgrove and illustrated with doe-eyed critters by Robin James. To me, they epitomize childhood in a way and I’d like information to be more readily available. To that end, I am reading, rereading, and analyzing. Many of the books have been rewritten more recently, prompting comparison between original and revised editions. Every single book is either sappy or preachy, but in an excellent way. They represent purity and simplicity and messages children don’t often get in such straightforward ways. It might even be interesting to work on a book about the series, offering histories and information for each book, as well as memories of the books by those who enjoyed them as a piece of childhood like I did.

Stephen Cosgrove’s Website

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Birds

The scheming magpies’ plan must’ve worked;
summer failed to arrive in this grey and spiraling urbanity.
Anchorage feels naked, empty
without the carpet of ice and snow crunching below.
I was aware of it when lupines and wild roses
heralded the arrival of what should have been June.
I was keenly aware of the missing white when
flowers conceded, accepting the cruelty of warmthlessness.
This city is wet now, as the great lion arrives.
Saddened by this dreary failure, the cat weeps,
drizzles pulling themselves from a sky
that has married itself with concrete.
The world darkens, turning grey and distant.
All hope escapes of summer, of warmth.
It’ll return to Alaska now, familiar cold eventually driving
away those smaller birds and welcoming the giant cousins,
the benevolent and ominous ravens, keepers of my soul.
In the merriment of an metropolitan buffet,
they’ll shoo the clouds, revealing the sun,
still hanging where they’d first placed it.

7.27.2008

What do I think of this poem? I almost feel like I was trying too hard. I’m still blocked and the words are not coming in waves. They take effort, like these, to release. I nearly like it, but may need to scrap an animal reference.Continue Reading

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Meeting with Tlāloc

Life’s all pauses and breaks;
my feet don’t seem so eager anymore to get to those places
I’ve always kept close to my heart and deep in my dreams.
There’s something soothing about stasis,
something unnerving as well.
I’m peering through cracks and holes of a life that is always shifting,
searching for someone who might be peering back at me
from the other side… of what?
The winds are picking up and I can feel change creeping over the horizon.
Storm’s comin’ and I’ve not gotten ready for it this time,
thought I’d enjoy more of this part of life,
thought there’d be more,
thought I could find comfort in being alone.
Blow me into bits; create something new and magical,
something more than I’ve ever been.
Grasping for hands to hold, I realize that there is only me.

22 July 2008

Written 22 July 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska.
Brian Fuchs, “Meeting with Tlāloc” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)
Notes
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