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Mãe, Ammee, Madre, Màna, Kantaäiti, Biang, Mother, Mere, Nyokap, Moer, Mum, Matka, Nënë, Maji, Ema, Kryemurgeshë, Mëmë, Emo, Mom

“A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.”
–Tenneva Jordan

I doubt most people are half as lucky as I am. I have the great benefit of not only having a wonderful mother, but also, in the same person, I have a great friend. LaDonna Marie Fuchs (Tucker) is one of the most generous people to inhabit this earth and one of the most humble. I strive daily to be more like her and yet don’t have the exact quality that makes her so unique. Mom is independent, intelligent, & content. Today, as we celebrate mothers, I just hope she knows how important she is to me.

I remember when I was young — I could have been 8 or 11 or some such age — I made a decision about my relationship with my mom. We had gone up to her classroom at Rainbow on a Saturday to get something (I don’t remember what it was — plastic treat bags, craft supplies, bright pink buckets). It seems like it was fall. She believed she had picked up a certain number of something or a certain specific something. When she said so, I corrected her, knowing that she had been wrong. “Oh,” she responded in disappointment. It was the way she said it. The “oh” was so sad to me at the age I was. I didn’t want her to feel that way ever again. I decided to not be the source of this kind of “oh” in the future. It seems silly that I have held on to such an insignificant memory. And I have hardly kept my promise, causing both intentional and unintentional pain throughout the years since this incident. But I keep coming back to this, remembering my solemn vow to keep my mom satisfied.

Today, when I feel like everything I say is making no sense to anyone else, I call my mom (or my dad or my brothers). To my family, my words make sense, even when they don’t. To my parents, my values and beliefs are familiar.

I hope all the mothers out there have a wonderful day today.

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Okay, I admit that it is unwise to eat things that you know will cause some sort of allergic reaction. It boils down to common sense. Why would you knowingly ingest something that will cause your tongue or neck to swell. But that is the game I have been playing. I have come to the conclusion that I have a slight allergy to sunflower nuts. To test my theory, I have been continuing to eat sunflower nuts & things made with sunflower oil to see what sort of reaction I might have. If you are interested, the nuts seem to cause my tongue to swell, the oil seems to cause my neck to swell. It is all very curious. It is also entirely possible that I am reacting to something other than sunflowers. I’d have to be willing to go to the doctor to come to any real conclusion about my health. Paying for insurance is one thing, actually finding a physician and making appointments is quite another. I also have this quirky notion that I want a female doctor. I’m not sure why that is exactly and maybe it is just best to not delve into that.

I have been thinking about the direction of this site since I restarted it back in March. I think it is only natural for it to evolve, but it lacks a clear purpose. Maybe that is best, but I would like a bit of structure. Watch for changes soon. I doubt anything drastic will be altered, but a few minor details will. I’d like to get others reading this soon. {that isn’t to say I don’t love y’all who do read this — you’re my favorite people!}Continue Reading

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I hope May is off to a great start for everyone. I was thinking about the absurdity of the maypole the other day. I guess it is no weirder than leprechaun footprints, egg-laying rabbits, or airborne caribou, but it just seemed like an unlikely holdover from the past. A large rod rising into nothing, adorned with ribbons of color. The odd edifice is accompanied by its own dance, a pre-Christian ritual celebrating the arrival of summer. But this seems to be the entirety of the May Day rituals. Dance around a pole merrily; repeat as needed. Curious.

The snow is still around town in little stubborn piles. It seems warm enough for these to melt, but they are resisting quite effectively. It seems wrong to have even the recent memory of snow in May, but it really was only a few weeks ago that we were driving on the permanent layer of snow and ice, packed down for months. I had really grown accustomed to the blanket of white and was a little sad to see it go. That got me more than a few raised eyebrows. The consensus seems to be that summer is so short that it should be enjoyed while it can be. For me, I found myself missing the winter because it had been so long. There had been snow covering the ground since October. That is a long bit of time.

I have solidified plans to go home this month. I paid for tickets. The flights were so booked that I will be traveling for half a day each way, with 2 layovers. It seemed like the worst way to go, but I had waited so long that my options were limited. I am really looking forward to seeing everyone, but I am not looking forward to the heat. I have become a person who is quite comfortable when it is 18° outside and the heat barely warms up the house. Start talking about Oklahoma heat and I sweat at the mere thought of it. I can’t wait to see my family though.

I am finally starting to get into a groove with 2 jobs. I requested no more than 3 days at Michaels, which they were more than okay with. That allows me some time at home, which I have used this week for extra sleep. I can already see myself getting back to my normal routine in the next week or so, so you can expect the updates I owe this site. And I need more requests. I am currently still working on the most recent one, but I need to get more!!! Travis?Continue Reading

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{{I am enjoying this story and this character quite a bit. I’m working very slowly on it. I know exactly what I want from it, but it is taking some time to get it just right. If you have suggestions on improvements I could make, feel free to leave them.}}

Story Preview: “Haunting”

Sometimes glamour can distract a person from certain danger. Sometimes the thrill of a thing outweighs the consequences of that thing.

I was invited to spend the night in a castle while I was traveling through Europe. It was a promotional stunt, fueled by the long-held belief by the local people that this particular castle is in fact haunted. The building is quite small, made from a sand-colored stone and topped with a couple of weatherworn gargoyles — not the finest examples, but a reminder that this place is from a different time. I decided that this would be quite an adventure to recount when I arrived back in the Sates, so I went for it.

I was told to bring with me anything I might need throughout the night, but not more than a half-dozen or so items. The entire point was to make me feel a bit uncomfortable. I had decided by that point to make the most of this opportunity, so gathering the items wasn’t much of a chore. I knew what I wanted almost immediately.

I had a large journal with a black and grey patterned cloth cover, which I carry almost everywhere. I would use this to write if I was inclined to do so. I carry a journal around with me most of the time. Inspiration can catch me at odd moments and it is nice to have something handy to jot down ideas. Along with a few pens, I knew which two items were absolutely going to be with me. I had to consult my bags for the rest. I decided that a flashlight would be an excellent choice — loaded with fresh batteries, of course. I hadn’t packed one, so I’d have to stop at a store to get one. Realizing that the castle would not be furnished, I grabbed a pillow. I nearly took a blanket too, but the nights had been warm during my stay and I suspected that this one would be no different. The last thing I settled on was a jade pendant — an amulet of sorts — that had been left to me by my great grandmother. It is made of black jade and carved in the shape of a cricket. It has always been my good luck charm.

————–

I’m really into this story. There is more coming, but wanted to get a little snippet out there for everyone. There are a lot of confusing tense shifts. I apologize for that. I was rather unsure how to get it just right, but may move it all into past tense. The story is being told by the main character, as stated would happen. I think it is important to not use present tense for that reason. Bear with it… it is very rough.Continue Reading

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Having 2 jobs is really tiring. I’m not sure how long I will last, especially with my part-time job scheduling me 4 days. I require down time in my life. I hope I can make it work, but not at the expense of my sanity!

Jess, this next one is going to be great. I will work on it when I have some time… which is… ? eventually!Continue Reading

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{{this one really made me think, Jess.}}

hate (‘hAt): 1 a : intense hostility and aversion usually deriving from fear, anger, or sense of injury b : extreme dislike or antipathy.

That doesn’t seem to cover it for me. To hate something or someone takes a lot of energy and isn’t so casual as it is often used. I often use the word hate when I actually mean dislike (sometimes, I even say “I hate” when I really mean “I love but am afraid of what that means”). Hate, like its antithesis love, is a very complicated idea. It is a decision one makes — to actively withhold understanding, compassion, and love from another person or thought.

I’m fairly certain that to “hate” something other than a person or thought is pointless — and in fact, I’m not sure if it is possible. I strongly dislike things (dried cherries, artichokes, hot pink paisley, sandpaper), but I think it is impossible for me to hate them. Hate, unfortunately, is more rational than that. It is a notion based on a set of rules one has formed for themselves. Hate is a common factor in the lives of many people. Although I know I have been hated for being me, I don’t know if I have myself ever truly hated another person. Maybe I have, but it seems like I would remember something so strong.

There are quite a few organizations founded on hatred. These groups promote using this energy to alienate fellow human beings based on factors beyond the control of both parties. This is often cited as a “Christian view,” which makes me ill. To understand someone who lives with hate, it is important to understand that these types of groups exist. It is also important to know what these groups are saying. It is for these reasons — and these reasons only — that I have included a list of links to hate groups. This is the world we live in.Continue Reading

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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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