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I chose a small school to attend. I grew up in a college town, immersed in the culture of one of the two major schools in the state, but to attend would mean to live at home. I felt ready to be on my own, even if not financially. Rogers State University was only an hour and a half from home, far enough to be away, but close enough to visit at any time. Perfect. Over the few months we had been there, I was starting to really enjoy life away from home. I was only 18.

1998 had just started. I had finished my first year of college and was unsure of where it was all going. I spent much of my time on campus, eating veggie burgers and reading or writing in the small student union. If I wasn’t there, I was in class or working at the on campus daycare.

My favorite new class was Creative Writing I. And my new favorite people were James & Jerry. Both frightened me so much that I could hardly talk to them. James was attractive and brilliant. I could tell he was destined for great things. I had a huge crush. Jerry was slightly older than me and seemed almost lost. He was also attractive and I could tell he and I shared a secret. Eventually, I started talking to him and we were fast friends. We’d hang out daily.

Along with Jerry, that was the year I met my muse, Frank O’Hara. Jerry and I were in the same program at the college. Therefore, we had several of the same classes. American Literature was one of them. We had been assigned a project. I don’t really remember the point of the project, but I do know that Jerry & I decided to video them instead of delivering them live in class. This allowed for us to do more with them. It actually would turn into a disaster. Part of the project was to choose a poem. I found one I liked by a poet I had never heard of. The poet was Frank O’Hara.

I had fallen in love with the style of the poem. It seemed to really speak to me and I quickly became a fan. I researched everything I could about this new person in my life. I felt oddly connected to him and reading his words felt so familiar. I knew that we were meant to know one another, even if it would be posthumously, as O’Hara had died in 1966. It was much later that I realized that this new muse was gay. It all made even more sense. I had found someone to look up to, a writer to model myself after, and I shared so much with him.

Later, I became convinced that I had an even stronger connection to this man. Perhaps I really do. It seems nearly impossible for me to not have been someone who knew Frank O’Hara when he was alive. I could have been him, an admirer, a friend, a lover, a parent, or sibling. Perhaps, I was a coworker who always looked up to him, but something about the connection is far too real to me. Or it could have happened in the opposite direction. Maybe he is around me somehow. Maybe a friend of mine today is him. Or maybe, just maybe, this is all silliness meant to explain why I am so obsessed with a person I could never have known.

There is no way to know and I continue to be a devoted fan.

Sleeping At Lunch

I dreamt I was Frank O’Hara.
I softly kissed Larry Rivers on the forehead
and it was again Rachmaninoff’s birthday.

I took a walk along the familiar path
where I once stopped to type something up,
a poem perhaps or maybe just a note for you.

I detoured down to the apartment where we all lived,
that foul address. God, we were happy when we left!
I remembered a story Joe told and how it made me smile
through the haze of the lumped-together smoke.

I made my way back from lunch to the museum.
Mike had made a cake because they had all forgotten me,
but the cake was no good because Mike is not a baker.

And then I woke up. And I remembered having
been him, but not having been him. Imagine!

7.25.2004

Frank O’Hara believed his birthday to be June 27. His parents had chosen that day to conceal premarital indescretion. Actually, he was born March 27, 1926.

St Francis
for my muse

Your mother was wrong —
the pin was not so
tacky and I can
feel the pain of
disappointment in my stomach.
You believed today was
was your birthday — your
mother was wrong again
(not to tell the truth) —
to believe that she could
hide her own uncontrolled
desires. I think that you
must have known — have
realized at some point
Be free of the lie — love the
day, the day. Join me
in March for a party.

6.27.00

Eventually, I will include a small history about Frank O’Hara, but for now, I will leave you with my account of discovery and obsession with this important figure (to me at least) in American Literature.

The Poet

As I look into the face of a man
33 years postmortem, enough time for Jesus
Time enough to realize — to gain beliefs.
He isn’t watching over

he is part of me. I can
feel it in the way his eyes were blue and in
the way he was Irish — not fully, but enough.
O’Hara — O’Hara — O’Hara.

I praise him leaning
on a door or a wall. I praise him wired with
energy… too much energy.

He made me an insomniac.
He got away with it. If I make dots on
the paper — salty wet dots, it’s realization,
it’s discovery! it’s wow! And maybe I should
go to a movie, buy some flowers and a new
typewriter — to peck away at in my own way.
I long for lunch poetry and Joe LaSueur.

Come Frank, I am waiting.

1.29.00

Frank,

Your words have become a part of me. Everything you meant to be, I try to be too. I am your faithful disciple, your devoted fan, and your dilettante. My words exist because of you, as I try to copy your style and attempt to become you through the craft of putting words on paper. I appreciate that you existed. I am thankful that you came before me to show me the path.

Thank you,
Brian

Jerry-bear,

Oh, wait… don’t call you that. That’s right. I hope you know what an influence you had on me. You gave me the confidence to be myself and seemed to genuinely believe in me as a writer and as a friend. Not many were as supportive at that point in my life and I am grateful that you were.

I’ve always felt like I am in the shadow of your greatness, even now, having spent so many years not even speaking to you. The things you write about and the style in which you do it is inspiring and I appreciate having such amazing talent to look up to. Someday, I hope we can share the stories of our successes with one another again in person. I miss having you around daily. And I would love to revisit a shared piece, having gained much more life experience since the original one-act deal we wrote.

Thank you for being you and helping me be me,
Brian

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A lot of people have supported me very strongly in my writing. It would probably be impossible to list everyone and thank them all individually, but I can still try.

Dearest Jennie,

You and I are abandoned ships, floating in this sea independently, not being able to ride the currents together. I am glad to have reconnected with you. You are an incredible joy to talk to, even in this crazy online world. I appreciate your support on my goals. I am famously horrible at following through with these things, but you don’t seem to notice, nudging me slightly to do what I need to do. Thank you.

Someday, we may both find ourselves tied up in the same harbor, finally together. But I’m not certain of that. Perhaps we were only meant to meet and be friends from afar, one chance encounter and then a series of rediscoveries. Regardless of the universe’s plans, I look forward to knowing you throughout this life.

Many hugs, my little lapin,
Brian

Mom,

Okay, I hear you. I need to write. Don’t get me wrong, I really do appreciate the reminders that someone likes my writing. For a long time, I thought you only said these things out of motherly obligation. I am beginning to switch that thought over. It seems that someone who reads as much as you do wouldn’t encourage me to fail. You must really think I have a talent for this. Thank you for that faith. It is very important to me to know that you want me to succeed — and that you think I can.

Don’t stop encouraging me. I sometimes forget what my goals have been. Remind me as often as it seems necessary. You keep me focused on my task.

I love you,
Brian

Oh, Travis,

You are all too often the little voice in my head. I hate that about you and I love that about you. I’m always saying to myself “don’t be sorry, change your actions,” a useful reminder and life lesson. More often than that, I keep remembering that I could have written a book by now, another helpful reminder from you. You nag me to get things done. I really do appreciate that.

Thanks,
Brian

“Meems”

How odd that I would want to thank you for encouraging me to write. You didn’t think there would be enough money in it to justify it as a career. I know you didn’t mean it to be hurtful, but sometimes it was. It felt like you were reserving some of your approval until you could see success in this goal. What I took away from this, however, was a strong desire to prove you wrong. I haven’t yet, but someday I hope to still. To me, it now seems that your wariness of writing as a profession was a type of encouragement. Thank you.

Brian

{I think I will break this part up into a couple more parts. I’d like to thank many others, but will stop for now.}

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{{first, let me just say thanks to Jennie. You are awesome. I am so glad you humored me in this weird request. I so wish our paths wouldn’t keep wandering off from one another.}}

Story: Cappuccino

“I don’t usually read those “I saw you” personals. I’ve always thought they were a little creepy. No offense.” Sam nods, indicating that no offense has been taken. “But I decided to scan through them for fun the other day, and there you were… looking for me.”

After a long pause, the two smile slowly at one another.

“I’m glad I found you,” Sam says. The waiters in the closed restaurant mill about, acting like they have more to do than they actually do. They are trying to make Chris & Sam aware that they closed almost an hour ago, which is finally dawning on the two. They have been gazing at one another, trying to recapture the magic of their chance encounter in the café. They aren’t finding exactly the same thing, but neither is particularly disappointed in this date. It has been going quite well in fact.

Chris has said all the right things, complementing when necessary and laughing at the right parts of the jokes. Sam has been attentive and doting, stressing the many excellent qualities that are so obvious. They are completely captivated by each other in this one amazing evening. Everything between these two seems perfect.

The attempts to usher the two lovers from the restaurant are becoming less subtle. There is increased urgency. The gazing soon moves out to the parking lot, where only two cars remain. The cars are next to one another in a strange coincidence. The two had met up inside, having come separately and not knowing what the other was driving. But there they were, side-by-side sedans. This makes both of them smirk a little.

“Would you like to grab a cup of coffee?” Sam asks hopefully.

“Yeah.”

The café where they had met is less than a quarter mile away and they decide to walk. They do this without much conversation, each analyzing the other’s mannerisms and imagining themselves happily married.

In the café, they both order a cappuccino. Sam’s heart races. The cappuccino started this love affair last Tuesday evening. It seems oddly important that the same drink has been ordered.

The two sit in a quiet corner. The café is relatively empty; it is late in the evening and the overnight crowd hasn’t started to show up yet. Both Chris and Sam are relieved that it isn’t as crowded as it can get. They want to talk.

Chris, being a little more talkative, nervously chatters about nothing in particular before deciding to share some background story. Sam learns about sisters and aunts and holidays at “Gram’s.” There is a mutual vision of sharing these things, even though the two have only recently met. Still listening intently to Sam, a smile slowly creeps across Sam’s face.

Sam prefers to not talk about family, as there is not much to tell. Having been alone for the majority of adult life, Sam has been searching for a family. Hopefully, Chris will satisfy this need. Instead of a family story, Sam talks about work. Chris is fascinated by the nuances of life in retail.

{okay, I created these characters and I just can’t get into them right now. I will update this one later. I also haven’t been able to determine the gender of either character. Perhaps it is better that they don’t have a specific one. It is more interesting to me that they could be either.}

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1. Why can I not stay on task and finish sorting through my stuff / cleaning my house? Probably because I am a little stressed out at the moment. I like having a clean home to relax in, but sometimes I just want to relax without having to worry about cleaning. So it has been lately. I just would rather wait.

2. What made me stop looking for a new full-time position (for now)? I genuinely like where I work. I don’t mind the quirks anymore. Oh, I assure you that I did when I started a year and a half ago. But I no longer am concerned about such things. I also have started to calm down, as I really needed to. Work is work. It will be difficult at times. What I really need is a way to escape. Heather has her books. David has his crafts. Nothing seems to fit. Sure writing is great, but the great problem is that writing is work. It takes a lot of time and energy. I love it and it doesn’t stress me out in the least, but it doesn’t exactly allow me to properly unwind. I need something more mindless for that. Since I started at Michaels, maybe I will try crafting again. There are so many things I can do.

3. What seems to be the job related issue? Even though I am not currently seeking a new line of work, I do believe there is a fundamental problem with me and retail now. And this is very recent. I have discovered office work. I feel like I have somewhat outgrown field retail as a career and should be working in a corporate office at this point. I love providing customer service and working with customers, but retail — almost all retail — involves tons of busy work and very little compensation for it. It was a very satisfying way to spend the last 8.5 years of life, but I may need to try something else for a little while. But not just yet. I want to give myself some time to enjoy retail again. No major career changes for at least another year.

4. Why do I make these lists? I make them to continue to write. If I make a list of something specific, I can usually force myself to write something. A list gives me a subject when none had come to mind. They spark creativity.

5. What is new with Brian? I am currently working on securing members for my new community site. I haven’t really decided what the theme is — and that will determine a lot. If you have any suggestions, please let me know. The idea started as a community of artists, but now it might be of “booksellers” or “opinionated people” or “people who have lived in Alaska” or “people whose last names only contain 5 letters.” It is still really open. Start the ideas flowing!!!

Hugs to all.

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I start my second job at Michaels on Sunday. I imagine having 2 jobs will make me very tired. I am looking forward to this new experience. The result of my recent ponderings on my career path: nothing. I feel better after some venting. Life at work is good and I feel like I am regaining some of the control I felt I had lost. I am still looking into new opportunities, but more as a reference for now. I don’t intend to switch my primary job at the moment. Thanks to everyone who had to put up with me during this time.

Do you ever wonder if the world has ended and you just haven’t realized it yet?

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27.7

Through the dirty pane of glass
I see the lingering snow —
an ever shrinking mass of white.
It’s April and I wonder how much
longer I will be alone.
My head has hurt for a week now
and I can barely stay calm in a job
that seems to have become a prison.

I am calm. I am resolved.
The love is enough; the love
from my family of new friends
(fellow refugees, struggling to
find themselves)
They soothe me and I feel
less angry about failure.

The snow will stick
for a few more weeks.
The grass is displacing patches
here and there — this guest
is no longer welcome.

I am standing here
at my kitchen door,
ready to take to the air;
ready to break free and
start this next phase.
I inhale deeply,
but I do not move.

4.11.2007

Thoughts to people I’ve had on my mind lately. I don’t expect these people to read this, but I wanted my thoughts out there. I also don’t want anyone to feel left out. I have a lot of people in my life and a lot of love to give. Don’t take it personally if I didn’t mention you.

David: You know what I think about you and how I wish you could be content. I am so pained by the hurt you go through, as if I have somehow become an extension of you — an additional limb you don’t really want to deal with. I don’t mean to care so strongly, but I’m not sure I can reverse and love you less. You are a good person who deserves all the things you want, even if you sometimes want them too much. I want to stare into your face for hours. It soothes me and is familiar; you make me feel at home.

Bradley: You’ve endured such pain. I am sorry you’ve had to go through such a terrible time. You are a great person and I know that wherever your life takes you, good things are possible. I hope you realize the blessings in your life and cherish them.

Heather: You put up with too much from me (you put up with too much from everybody). I appreciate your concern about me and know that you really do care. That means a lot. I have tried to distance myself from you a little lately and I am sorry if it has seemed like rejection. It isn’t. I still care about you as much as always, but feel like we needed a bit of a break. I don’t think that anymore. I have been so lucky to have you as a friend.

Grant: I am worried that we have failed to connect recently. I have really tried to open up to you as a friend, but held back a little. I find it difficult to relate to men who aren’t gay, which is horrible of me. I feel like I am disappointing you at work and I hate it. Working for you is the only reason I am still at the store. I want to work for/with you, not only because you are a great guy to be around, but also because you know how to manage a store.

Jacci: You have so much to give. I wish I could just accept it and allow you into my life more. I don’t know if I am scared of something or what, but I just can’t seem to let my guard down around you. I am trying.

Mom: I feel like my journey has caused unnecessary stress for you. I know you don’t understand why I needed to be in Alaska — I don’t really either, but the last thing I ever wanted was to be further away from you. You are one of my closest friends and I wish I could be more open with you. I also worry about you a great deal. I wish I could see you every single day.

People I miss (in no particular order): Jess C, Jess F, Justin, Becky, Meghan, Jill, Jeff, Marla, Serenity, The Kim, Dad, Lori, Ed, Sharon, Stan, G, Annie, Laurisa, Samantha, Kendra, Mimi, Valeri, JoBeth, Ray, Opie, Geri, Jerry, Travis, Conner, Tim, Kathy, Mary C, Mary, Ann, Mom, JD, Jason, Jennie, Elisabeth, Emily, Matt A, Ken, Shauna, Gordon, KC, John H, James, Debbie, Molly, Avery, May, Riley, Jason M, Brent, Bryce, Cara, Paul, Patrick, David E, David M

I know that frustration will only cause me more problems and I can’t live with it. I have to move on and become who I am right now. Life is far too short to accept pain. Having almost literally counted my blessings, it seems that I must realize how lucky I am. And I do know that. I hope all of this means I am moving forward.

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First, I hope everyone had a nice Easter weekend. I wish I had a sense of tradition for holidays. Not that my family doesn’t do holidays — we do. But I still don’t mind not having a celebration to attend or having family around. I’d much rather have my family around on a random Tuesday… we’d have dinner and talk late into the night about nothing in particular. I miss that.

“The man who doesn’t relax and hoot a few hoots voluntarily, now and then, is in great danger of hooting hoots and standing on his head for the edification of the pathologist and trained nurse, a little later on.”
–Elbert Hubbard

I have a headache. I’ve had it for about a week now. It is worse when I am at work or thinking about work. When I am at home, not thinking about it, I hardly notice it. I am extremely frustrated with the direction of my job and can’t seem to find a solution at the moment. Maybe there is no solution, but I am certainly not happy. It all feels so petty when I have to analyze it. Somehow, the concerns that drive me to tears while I am at the store seem so trivial when I am not there.

These are my complaints:
•Those hierarchically above me feeling entitled to whatever they want.
•Those same people complaining about having to work certain shifts, knowing that I write the schedules.
•All questions and concerns about the way the schedule is written requiring an impromptu meeting.
•Full-time employees planning work around their social lives instead of the other way around.
•Having more work to do than I can finish and receiving no help when I need it, even after requesting it.
•Bending the rules because certain employees are more “valuable” than others.
•Not having an outlet for venting frustrations.
•The things I do affecting people’s lives and others not understanding that.
•Having a supervisor who gives orders rather than working with me to get everything done.

I love my job. I really do. I like being entrusted with responsibility and am honored to be the person who makes so many decisions about the store. I feel perfect for the job, as I tend to have more patience than most and I am trustworthy. I know that my job will never be done; not only do I have to complete the same tasks every two weeks, but I also want to learn new things all the time and challenge myself to grow as a part of the company. That is difficult at the moment though. I feel like I can barely catch up enough to just get by.

I wanted to be a writer. I still do. But I feel like that is slipping further and further away, as I am in a line of work that requires a lot of work all day. Much of what I do is mental work, but that is just as taxing and I end up exhausted and disinterested by the time I get home. To calm down and resume the love of things I forget to enjoy requires me to spend a few hours with David or Heather just so I can collect my thoughts. Is my job getting in the way of my goals? I don’t want to believe that it is, but I am obviously not doing what I love to do as a result of what I need to do to pay the bills. And it barely does that.

Where am I going with this? I don’t really know. I don’t have a solution, as I have said. I don’t know if relieving some of the stress will fix the problem or not. I need the money I earn from working, but I need my dreams to be realized. How can I have both?

[Did I take a break from this blog? Not exactly. I have been so stressed out that I have been unable to focus on anything. I have done a lot of sleeping. I have done a little crying. I have been at David’s and at Heather’s. I have been escaping from my life through events rather than through the computer. It may be a loophole, but I am still using it Travis. Plus, I’ve been updating & adding poetry pages.]

Images: Paul Klee – Die Zwitscher-Maschine (Twittering Machine) (1922); photo by Eugene Chystiakov (via Unsplash)

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Sometimes, I feel so aware of the world that it hurts. I feel like every second is so real that I can almost touch it; like time has slowed so much that it is tangible and everything is. In these moments, remembering to breath becomes a chore, as each lung creates disturbances within my chest. The air is often dripping with moisture, beads of water practically suspended, fully formed, in mid-air. These moments seem to exist for smoking — the soothing aroma combines with the moment and you feel like you are a million miles away, floating above this reality. Even now, long since smoke free, these fragments of time are both exhilerating and frightening; it can feel like time will not start up again.

Image: unknown photo of man smoking Djarum Black cigarettes

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If there was ever going to be a subject that frightened those around me, this is it. I don’t mean to alarm those who have put so much trust in me — and indeed I am nothing if not loyal. However, after a year and a half working for Borders, I still feel like I am working for the other side — for Barnes & Noble. I’m not sure why I have yet to feel at home with the company I am now working for. Perhaps it is the many hours I put in at B&N that made it feel like my life.

I started working at Barnes & Noble in August 1998. I had just turned 19 and was full of ideas about how the world should work. During my interview, I told Marla that I would never quit unless I intended to move. I worked part time for some time, bouncing around from café to music to books. The work was straightforward enough, but a certain elitism came with working in a bookstore that I rather enjoyed. I also found my coworkers to be extremely tolerant of others, which I attribute to being more educated and well read than the average retail person.

After a couple years, I took a full-time position as “New Release Lead.” I was in charge of the front of store and the best sellers. After that position, as well as a temporary stint as “Newsstand Lead,” I became the “Gift Lead.” That was the position I used to really prove my value to the company. I excelled in merchandising the gifts & stationery section, increasing our stores sales dramatically in a very short amount of time. Within a few short months, I interviewed and was offered a position as Music Manager.

I loved managing the music department and I did it well. I had gained such a vast amount of product knowledge and was able to maintain the product so well that we almost never had shrink problems, and when we did there would be an obvious reason behind it. Everything was going pretty well there.

Problems really started when John passed away in 2004. He was my direct supervisor and close friend, as can happen when you work with someone for nearly 6 years. Halfway through a shift one day, he left, drove himself to the hospital, where he slipped into a coma and died several days later. His liver had failed, toxifying his entire body. I was devastated and the usual places to turn provided no comfort, as they too were mourning. I turned to Irene, a manager at our store whose popularity was never very high, which was no secret. That decision seemed to leave a mark on my relationships with both Brandy & Marla. But Marla wasn’t blameless in this. Her refusal to get a grief counselor for the store angered me so greatly that I thought about leaving the store. I didn’t.

Marla & I were not really getting along. Subconsciously, I was probably working to sabotoge her, while she tried to find any reason to find fault with the work I was doing. Our feud was evident throughout the store, even as we maintained the appearance of friendship. And we were starting to get better too; we were nearly getting along. That is when the worst thing happened that could have ever happened. On the anniversary of John’s death (give or take a day), JoBeth passed away. From the day the store opened, JoBeth had been the “store mom.” She was our “Head Cashier” and worked hard to make sure everyone was kind towards everyone else. She was one of the happiest people I’ve known, and one of the sassiest. She was a joy.

JoBeth had fought cancer for over a year and it was well known that she didn’t have much longer. She died at home, surrounded by her family and her dolls. It was very sad, but I took comfort in knowing she would no longer be suffering, as she had for so long. But once again, the store mourned alone. I didn’t know how to properly handle this loss and knew that it would be difficult to do so without help. I had just lost a grandmother at the end of 2000, the other in 2002, John in 2004, and now JoBeth in 2005. That is a lot of people to lose so close together. But it didn’t matter. Marla assumed that we could all handle it ourselves.

That was the beginning of the end. I could not have been more furious with Marla and she had to know it. She couldn’t have been more frustrated with me. I knew it. The tension between us was now so obvious that people could pinpoint us as the problem, but I no longer cared. In retrospect, although I feel that I was right about obtaining professional help, I am sure I was looking for someone to project blame on. I didn’t deal well with the whole situation and was sleeping a lot, as I was very depressed. That summer, I often cried myself to sleep for what seemed like no reason.

The third time I was late that summer, I had a feeling Marla would try to get rid of me… and I was really fed up. I had just returned from a small vacation and was leaving on another in a couple days. I decided I would use that time to look for a job in Dallas. At the end of my shift, before counting down my till, I gave my notice to Valeri, my manager at that point. However, while counting my money, Marla came in and let me go.

I don’t know how I feel about it, even now. I don’t think she had proper justification for firing me. It seemed a stretch after working there for 7 years, going most of them without even the most minor disciplinary action needing to be taken. Perhaps, it didn’t ever dawn on her that my problems stemmed from the loss of 2 coworkers in our store. Perhaps I could have worked through my issues more constructively if I had the proper channels to do so. Maybe not. And it is entirely possible that I was offered in order to save her job, as the store was having some major issues.

Whatever the reasons, regardless of anyone’s feelings, I felt betrayed. I didn’t want to leave my home — in fact, I still want to be there. Less than 2 months after working at B&N, I moved to Alaska. Up here, I found my job with Borders and started my new family. But it doesn’t feel right; it may never feel right. I invested too much of my life — I grew up with B&N. And now, I feel like I am working Borders from the perspective of a Barnes & Noble employee — like I am just waiting for a phone call to return to the place I really belong. But I think this may be where I belong now.

I do miss my life.

Images: unknown photo of man with book; Jane Human, Sunflower 06

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I picked Heather up from the airport last night. Of course, I went to the wrong terminal, but I eventually got her. I’m so glad she is back. Welcome home, Heather! Before that I went to Gallo’s for our usual Monday night fun. It was just Grant & James, but it was great. I really enjoy talking to Grant about just about everything; I wish I could talk to people when others are around.

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Cold Betrayal
on being stranded in Alaska

January had been full of
animal dinners and parties
when sadness was setting in
and Lori left suddenly after
and exchange of anger-charged words

I was lost during those cold weeks
that followed and couldn’t keep up
Life rushed by and stood still

I know about the carefully discarded
cigarette butts in bottles of soda
and the mornings of coffee and romance
empty mornings and safe

I had days when I didn’t eat
that spring and the cheap dinners
of tasteless noodles seemed
heavenly after

The pain doesn’t last and Justin
stayed with me until I wasn’t unhappy
anymore which was a long time
Then he went home to his life and
left me to forge my new life from
this strange place

Sometimes I want to forget Lori’s face
but I keep getting it stuck in my head
I had a dream with hundreds of hens
flocking around me and
they all screamed Lori’s name
and I realized that I still love her

despite not being able to hold on enough
to keep her near me
I am floating above this frozen place
this city of refugees lumped together
from many corners of other places

I don’t care anymore about knowing about the
coffee and the cigarettes and the novels
it doesn’t matter that people are happy when
I can’t decide what would make me happy
but I wish the hens would stop reminding me

Brian Fuchs 2 April 2007

I don’t know where I intended to go with this. It feels unfinished somehow. Maybe such emotional things are more difficult to write about than trivial bits of life. I don’t really know. I do know that this wouldn’t even have been written if it hadn’t been for Travis, who kindly reminded me that a writer writes… everday. Thank you, Travis.

It is sometimes hard for me to keep up with anything routine. I am just wired to forget, but I really appreciate anyone who gives me new material, reminds me to write, or inquires about my writing. It is one of the important things in my life and knowing others care is a big part of keeping with it. I have been less successful with it in the past, but I do intend to keep up here. With that said, anyone who reads should feel free to nag me endlessly if it seems I am not keeping up with this.

If Lori reads this (or any of Lori’s peeps), I hope it is understood that I don’t harbor any hard feelings. I was thinking about her today, as it is her birthday and remembered the feeling of her not being around when it was still new for me. I wish Lori the best and hope she has a great birthday today.

Featured Image Art: Artem Misyuk, Illustrations to the collection of poems by Borovets A (6)

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I was a jerk to David tonight. I was really upset that I wasn’t nice and cried on my way home from his house. I feel a little silly and pathetic. I hope he is okay.

 

It is 3:51 a.m. on Monday. I can’t sleep! I am so hyper and it makes no sense. I have to go pick up Heather tomorrow night and I will be so exhausted when I go. BLAST.

Featured Image Art: AI Image (created using Wonder AI)

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“To eat is a necessity, but to eat intelligently is an art.”
— François de La Rochefoucauld

I have spent many years being overweight and sluggish. I look in the mirror, wondering who the fat kid looking back at me is. Somehow, though, I feel that I am internally skinny and would like to let that person out for the world. I am making some headway in this area, but I still have a long way to go.

I’ll make this as brief as possible; there are plenty of books on the subject and my views are not going to make any difference.

As Americans, we need to change the way we think about food and health. As Michael Pollan points out in his book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, it should be the most natural thing for us to know what to eat. Sadly, though, it is difficult for people to decide what they are going to eat, and often the wrong choices are made. Until very recently, I happily consumed sythetic foods & caged animals, not wanting to know much more about it — especially that what I was eating could potentially harm me. I was blissfully unaware of the problems I was causing for myself.

I hope I am starting to change that about myself. Although I don’t feel it is right for everyone, vegetarianism has changed my perception of almost everything. A common reason among vegetarians and vegans for not eating meat/using animal products is to reduce suffering. By cutting down on those things that cause great suffering, the world is a better place. I appreciate those individuals, but the issue is deeper for me. I simply don’t want to consume thinking beings. It is that shift in mindset that has forced me to read the label of everything I purchase, from tortilla chips to vitamins (many multivitamins contain fish), seeking out the hidden animal products in seemingly benign products. Who knew I would be giving up Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix (it contains lard) or canned black-eyed peas (most are canned with pork products).

It is this label reading that has forced me to deal with something else. Artifice in my food. Primarily, I don’t have the energy to read through long lists of ingredients. I’d rather put the item back than sort through everything. But I also find that I can reduce the amount of other items too. HFCS generally keeps a food item from coming home with me. As does anything claiming to be “enriched” or “whitened.”

I don’t think a little knowledge about what you are chosing to put in your body is a bad thing. And that isn’t to say I don’t still have the occasional orange soda (loaded with lots of yummy HFCS) or buy some fresh bread, even though I know it is made of white flour. Sometimes the moment dictates that you throw these convictions out. But I am able to make more informed decisions about what I eat on a regular basis.

I’m shrinking. Without exercise, I have been losing weight quickly. I have tons of energy and feel mentally more alert than I have in a long time. I can really only attribute this change in myself to the change in my eating habits. I am just generally eating a more healthy diet than I used to. Now, I will be adding exercise to the mix. I hope I only continue to get healthier. I need to.

Life is sometimes all about the small victories. I recently found myself not out of breath after walking up the stairs at work. It has only happened a few times, but it is something!

Suggested reading:
The Omnivore’s Dilemma : Michael Pollan
Plenty : Alisa Smith & JB Mackinnon
Becoming Vegetarian : Vesanto Melina & Brenda Davis
Fast Food Nation : Eric Schlosser

Featured Image Art: Andrea Landini, The Pie

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“I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.”
–Frank O’Hara

Perhaps one thing I developed as a child of Oklahoma is an innate sense of faith. It is something I take for granted; something I assume we all have in common. When I am proven wrong about faith — when I discover the great numbers of beliefless people, I am dumbstruck and a little bit sad.

Faith is often the only thing I have to hold onto, the rest of life’s trivial issues slipping away and seeming increasingly less important. That isn’t to say that my “willingness” to have a belief system has made me apathetic about the world. In fact, I think quite the opposite has happened. Life is filled with meanings — deep meanings. Everything seems so charged and alive, knowing there are forces working around us that are greater than we are.

It also seems that the further I get from home, the more bitter those around me seem about any sort of organized thought (and religion in particular). That is likely just part of working with books. Bookstores attract thinkers. One of the wonderful things about thinkers is that they often arrive at conflicting conclusions concerning existence. I love being surrounded by such a difference of ideas.

Faith seems like a foreign notion here in Alaska. Those of us with belief systems, regardless of those beliefs origins, are certainly not the majority. It is all very unsettling.

But I believe very strongly that the blame for this goes entirely to the religious leaders of the world. In their efforts to speak for God, a contemptuous act, they have alienated too many. With such a variety of people, it is hard for many to feel they belong into the rigid molds cast by well meaning theological dictators. That is unfortunate.

Christianity has already lost one fight. The hypocritical and belittling treatment of gays and lesbians over the decades has pushed us away. Feeling ostracized by an organization we weren’t sure we wanted to belong to, the community seems to have moved on. Faith isn’t important to the outcasts of religious society. And it seems that this isn’t a lesson the Christian community has learned. The persecution continues. And so it does with many groups who don’t fit the ideals of these individual schools of thought… these approved ways of being by the religious communities.

A well-organized effort to cater to and serve those who think for themselves or who don’t fit the exact mold of the perfect Christian could have had a positive effect on the spreading of Christian “values.” Exclusivity, a lesson not found in text, has become the hallmark of a people who cannot see the forest for the trees. They are too busy concerning themselves with superiority that they have not noticed that the power has already been surrendered to the angry and faithless. This is probably true of any religion. I can’t say anything on behalf of those I am not associated with.

It isn’t about these specific religious thoughts, but about faith. Simply having faith is the important part. For myself, I will continue to feel my way through blindly. My own faith is hardly shaken. I am saddened that there are so many without a place to turn when life gets to be difficult. They end up turning on themselves. I don’t feel that it is too late for the major religions of this planet. The most important thing is to eliminate hate. Without hate, the anti-faith movement has less footing. Without hate, support can be found in surprising places. Without hate, there will only be love. Love is something all types of people can support. With more people joining the efforts, support systems are built and mankind can only benefit from such a system.

30 March 2007

{edit}

When I wrote these thoughts out, I had intended them to reflect a general impression I have gotten from fundamentalist Christian “leaders” in America. I realize that there are still understanding individuals whose values are based on love. I didn’t mean to generalize to the point of excluding those Christians from my argument. And I didn’t mean to say that there is no longer any hope. I think the battle has long been lost, but certainly not the war. In my opinion, it is up to the open-minded members of the Christian faith to bring the message to those who have otherwise been ignored. Those who preach hate have made that task very difficult, as there is now a resistance to faith of any kind.

My family attended a Church of Christ. Not strictly a denomination, Churches of Christ are gatherings of Christian worship where beliefs seem to be individualized. I felt encouraged to come to my own conclusions about the issues of the world and I didn’t have to share those beliefs with the person sitting next to me. This made church very personal for everyone. And that sense that it is your walk with God that makes the Churches of Christ so great. If anyone felt offended by my rant, I apologize, but this sense of increasing alienation is very real. And you should be offended. You should be offended that there are Christians spreading hate. You should be offended by apathy. You should be offended that the values of good people are being routinely dismantled.

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These are two stories I wrote forever ago. The purpose of both is to introduce several characters I intend to use in various stories. These characters are a family in my head still and I will one day start recounting their lives. I hope you enjoy this, their Genesis.

American Dream [or Yesterday Hurts] (Revised Version)

I still can’t believe I am here. I just can’t stand this. I guess I can’t say I’m lucky, but I can’t say I don’t deserve it either. Rejection that is. It still hurts, and I think the worst part is that I can’t do anything about it. I started with good intentions; I am not a bad woman. I had the chance to have a family like I dreamed of doing, and I loved every moment of it. I married a seemingly wonderful man and had two beautiful boys, Chad and Ivan. I love them so much.

One day though, my husband left me. He ran off with a woman with perfect teeth and big breasts. I hated her then. Maybe I still do. But why shouldn’t I? I was a good wife and was still a damn good mother, but sometimes, you know, that thing inside you, that desperation, just needs something to make life easier, so I drank. I wasn’t a heavy drinker at first, not really. I just had a little in the evening. It made it better, the pain that is. I knew it was getting worse, but I tried not to think about it.

My drinking started getting worse. My children were suffering from my neglect, I realize that now, but I still had to have something. It seemed to be what I needed. I soon turned to abuse. Oh, I would never become physical with them, but sometimes it seems that words hurt worse. They do. I know that now.

Ivan was my baby, and he was only eleven at that time. The divorce and the pain of knowing what his father had done had gotten to him and I guess he was pretty depressed. I didn’t see it then, I do now. I feel so bad for not noticing he was hurting. As his mother I should have been there for him. But I was too busy being comforted by my bottle of whatever it was I was drinking. My other son, Chad was twelve. He ignored the situation. He would go spend time at his friend’s house and wander around the neighborhood.

I didn’t try. I only made things worse. I love Ivan; I really do. But he is different. I knew back when he was five and six that he might be gay. I started calling him “fag” and “fruit” and any other name I could think of. The names made me feel better at first, but would always make me feel worse in the end. He would cry and sit up in his room. I heard him. I didn’t care. I mean, I did care, but I didn’t do anything. I guess I’ve been a lousy mother. I know Ivan didn’t even know why I called him those names, not that there is an excuse. He understands now. He came out to his aunt about a year ago. They have been so supportive of him, and I think he might even have a boyfriend. I guess I am proud. Not that he is gay, but that he is happy. At least he is. He never told me he was gay. Chad told me. I felt terrible when I heard that and wondered if it was my fault. No wonder he hates me.

Anyway, my drinking somehow led to drugs. I didn’t really expect it to, but it did. In the back of my mind I told myself that it couldn’t happen. It seems that Chad knew it would. Ivan didn’t want to be around me enough to figure it out, so I don’t think he knew I went that far. He probably knows, but I hope not. I love those boys and never wanted to hurt them, but I knew when I started that they would be taken away when anyone found out. I regret my drug use now, but it is too late for that, I guess.

I sent my children to stay with their aunt, my ex-husband’s sister. She is a good woman, and treats my kids wonderfully. She is Ivan’s biggest support. I love her so much for treating my baby so well. I think sending them there was the best thing for my kids. A few days later I called to the rehab center. I was so nervous and embarrassed, but I knew I had to do that for my boys. Chad was fifteen then, and Ivan was fourteen. He hadn’t said two words to me in three months. I deserved it, I guess. I was in rehab for six months. I couldn’t believe I had to miss both of my kids’ birthdays. Chad turned sixteen on the first of March. Ivan turned fifteen on St. Patrick’s Day. He has always been proud of his birthday. It makes him feel special to have a holiday birthday.

I had given custody of the kids to their aunt . She would have given them back, but because of my rehab I had to go to court to prove myself. It was ruled that the boys would make the decision to come home with me or not. I think I wouldn’t have gotten them at all if they had been younger. Anyway, Ivan has never been a leader. I really expected him to do whatever Chad did. I knew Chad would come with me. We have always been close. The boys were given another week at their aunts to make a decision. In that time, I rented myself an apartment and applied for some jobs. They were small jobs, but I figured they would have to do.

A week later I showed up to pick up the kids. Chad was ready. His bags were stuffed haphazardly, like he couldn’t have had any less time to pack, though he had a week. No one said a word as Chad gave me a hug and ran out to put his stuff in the car. Eighteen and still a mama’s boy. Ivan was leaning on the wall, like he was hiding. He looked like he was mad, but he was about to cry. He didn’t even look at me. I think he wanted to, but he didn’t. A got one of those lumps in my throat. I wanted to cry. I didn’t though. I just went home with Chad. On our way home, I cried. Chad starting saying that Ivan was a jerk and couldn’t believe he didn’t come. That day Chad called Ivan a “fag” and it killed me. I started crying. Chad said he didn’t mean it, and almost started to cry, I think. Ivan and Chad loved each other. They had to. Without each other they had no one. Well, they had their aunt, but they still needed each other.

Being rejected by one of my children really hurts. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be a good feeling. But Chad was at home, and I still felt as bad as I did before. I guess I was ashamed of myself for everything I had ever done. But I still loved my baby, even if he did hate me.

I started my new job, waiting tables. It wasn’t much, but it helped and the apartment was small enough to make up for the difference. It felt empty without Ivan, Chad told me Ivan had never felt like he belonged in the family. I wish he knew how much I loved him.

About a month passed and I decided to go talk to Ivan. I wanted to let him know how much I loved him. I went to see him at his aunt’s. I called for him and he didn’t come. His cousin told me he had locked himself in the cedar closet. I went to the closet and tried to open it. It was locked. I knew it was a stupid idea to put a lock on a closet door. said that the first time I saw it there. He wouldn’t talk to me. I could hear familiar music. I had bought a tape for his tenth birthday. It was all he had wanted. He had wanted it for so long. He still had it. I started to walk leave when Ivan knocked on the door three short knocks. I knocked back twice. Those knocks were kinda our little thing at our old house. His room was next to the master bedroom. I would knock three times and he would always knock back twice. It was kinda like saying “I love you” I guess. As soon as I had finished, Ivan slipped one of his paintings he had done under the door. The background was black and gray, with a red heart. In the heart two people, one with long hair the other with short hair. I turned it over and on the back was a note: “I love you mom. Ivan” I didn’t thank. I just left. I didn’t know what to think. I had the painting framed. It is hanging in my living room now. Ivan has still never seen it, and he has still not spoken to me. I decided soon after to look for some support. Divorce is hard, but I took mine too far. It destroyed my family and we will never be the same, not that we were ever really happy. I am so happy to have found this group. I hope you can help me relieve some of the hurt. Thank you.

Brian Fuchs 5.23.1998

Character: Jean (Original Version)

Jean walked swiftly into work at nine fifteen and sat at her desk, stopping a moment to catch her breath. “Hi Jean” Sue said from the next desk.

“Oh… hello,” Jean started, “Ivan was over last night and I took him to school and I had to get gas. It’s been a long morning…did I miss anything?”

“No. It’s been a slow here.”

Jean allowed herself time to worry about Christine, as she always did. Christine had married Jean’s brother, Robert, and when he ran off with another woman, Jean became closer to Christine and checked on her frequently. Christine would slip into periods of depression sending her children to stay elsewhere. Ivan almost always ended up at Jean’s. He was close to Brooke, Jean’s daughter. The two would talk about school and their parents acted so much alike. His brothers would end up at a friend’s house or at Jean’s mothers, but never together. Jean constantly worried about them. She does this too often, Jean thought to herself, she is missing her children grow up. With that, Jean decided to go talk to Christine after work as she always did when Christine was like this. She was too stubborn to let Christine waste her life away.

By four that afternoon, Jean’s mind was racing in anger. “I’m going early, Sue.”

Jean pulled up to Christine’s house, being sure to lock the doors as she got out of the car. She walked up on the porch. The glass on the storm door was still missing. Christine had thrown a mantle clock through it when Robert walked out on her. Jean rang the doorbell. Receiving no answer, she fumbled angrily for her key and walked in. She sighed as she walked through the house. The laundry was in heaps in the living room and the dirty dishes overfilled the kitchen sink. “Chris?” she called. “Chris….” She went back in the kitchen. On the table, among various bills and schoolwork from the kids, there was a note:

Jean- I knew you would come. I had to leave for a while. I don’t know how long I will be gone. -C

Jean’s eyes widened as she read the note. She didn’t how to take it. The anger she felt turned into guilt and she stood there with the note in her hand, her mind racing with where Christine could be. She stuffed the note in her purse and left.

When she got home, she wasn’t sure what to do. “Ivan!” she called. “Ivan?”

“What,” Ivan asked calmly, appearing from the den. Jean ran up and hugged him. He was taller than she was, which made it difficult, but she held on tight. Ivan reluctantly put one arm around her. She let him go and just stood there, looking at him. “Dinner will be ready at seven and Jerry will be home then.” Jean turned and walked into the kitchen and phoned her mother. Ivan looked over at Brooke and raised his eyebrows in confusion. Brooke shrugged her shoulders.

They ate in the den. Jean was not chatty as usual. She explained what had happened and they were completely silent. “I’m going to bed,” Ivan finally said, not having finished his meal. Jean got up, found him some blankets and told him to sleep on the floor in Brooke’s room if he wanted. Jean couldn’t sleep that night. She worried about Christine. Ivan cried himself to sleep and Brooke fell asleep soon after Ivan’s crying stopped.

Ivan woke up with a sharp pain in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or guilt or sadness.He had spent much of his time like this lately, but now that his mother had gone, the pain was much greater. Ivan had become a master of confusing himself. He would tell himself one thing, while he would want it not to be true so badly that he would tell himself that. He did that with his mother. He did not want her to be gone so much that he would build up a deep denial and feel she had not run away.

“Honey… better get up and get ready for school.” Jean said solemnly as she passed by Brooke’s door.

“Okay.” He said, with a deep crackle of morning in his voice.

Ivan sat in class, trying carefully to look as if he was listening. As his first-hour teacher explained quadratic equations, Ivan’s mind raced and his stomach ached. It was still early enough that his eyes were sore from last night. He thought mainly of his mother, but he would occasionally have an out-of-the-blue thought about the history test next week, how he felt he wasn’t normal like other teenaged guys with their girlfriends. He knew that he wasn’t going to have a girlfriend; he did not want one. But then, he would think about his mother, sharpening the pain in his stomach.

“Ivan!” the teacher said.

“Oh… what?” Ivan said trying to sound likr he misuderstood the question.

“Can you work problem twenty-seven on the board?”

“No… I need to go to the office… I don’t feel well.”

When Jerry arrived at the school, Ivan was sitting on a bench in front of the building, hugging his knees for comfort. He grabbed his bag slowly and seemed to crawl into Jerry’s truck.

“Hi Ankle…” Ivan said slowly. Jerry was called “Ankle” by the entire family. When she was younger, his brother’s daughter could not say Uncle Jerry, therefore she called him “Ankle Cherry.” The name stuck and Jerry was now so used to it, he didn’t notice.

“Upset?” Jerry asked, trying to sound compassionate.

“I feel sick.”

“Yeah?”

“My stomach hurts… and my eyes… “

“Well, you just need some rest.”

“Yeah, probably…”

Jerry dropped Ivan off, as to get back to work as soon as he could. Ivan went up to the garage door, entered the code and went inside.

Brian Fuchs 3.31.1998

Featured Image Art: Mark Rothko, “White Band No. 27”