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I paused to bend your ear [it didn’t go well]

Secrets whispered make this place
tolerable, despite crumudgeons
who’d have it otherwise.
Would-be librarians shush us,
make get-back-to-work motions.
My face goes blank like a yokel
with nothin’ in my noggin ‘cept dust.
I’m animally staring into
the headlights of disapproval,
amazed that people think
themselves as so much more
important than they are.
I forget the secrets for now,
pretend to obey these adults who
wish to again be hall monitors.
I’ll wait and shout bits as I pass by
to show you that I still include you.
Together we’ll prove ourselves here
and these asses will fall away
to make room for our ascent.

5.20.2008

I’ve discovered that I wasn’t the only person to want to create a Title Wave book. Now, having discussed it with a coworker, I’m going to try hard to make it happen. He proposed donating profits to a charity, which I think is brilliant. We wouldn’t be in it for the money anyway. Now, choosing the right people to run it will be tough. One of the strongest resources is not a supporter of the project, so we cannot count on that person or the knowledge from them. I think it requires people who are willing to get things done, so I’ll be working on staying on other people about it, as well as myself.Continue Reading

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Elton was amazing. The whole experience was surreal as it never dawned on me that I would actually get to see Elton John… I mean, I understood the concept, but when it was actually happening I was transported somewhere wonderful. I regretted that David was not sitting next to Daniel, who was in the row behind us with his parents, but somehow that seemed nice too. Daniel and his mom really seemed to enjoy one another at the concert.

And yes, I cried a little. It just wouldn’t stay in. There were others who cried too, but I think I’m not supposed to mention it. Oh well.

This month has been great for events. While Elton was certainly the superstar of them — and indeed the biggest star I’ve seen in concert — the others are still worth mentioning. May started with Margaret Cho, which was so much fun… fantastically dirty. I almost feel bad saying so, but it was nice to attend an event surrounded by other gay men. There is something comforting about being around gay men, even when they are trashing you behind your back (and they are). At work, we had several big authors, which gets me as excited, if not more, as other celebrities. Seth Kantner, author of Ordinary Wolves, was in last night to discuss his new book and sign. I felt honored by getting to hear from such a successful writer. Sue Henry, Alaskan mystery novelist, was in last week. Her event was small and not promoted, but the intimate setting was nice and allowed for more of a group discussion on writing rather than a talk about her newest book. Her books sell well all over the country. Although I was not there, John Dean, former White House counsel who was convicted of multiple felonies for his involvement in Watergate, was in on Sunday to sign copies of his books. It was a last minute appearance, but drew a crowd I hear.

I loved being out and about in Anchorage tonight, but somehow still managed to feel out of place. I clearly have some issues to work on. Don’t I always.

If you ever have a chance to see Elton John, do it. It is worth the price of the ticket. And a thousand thank-yous to Daniel, who camped out at Sullivan Arena for 24 hours to get tickets for everyone. It takes a really great person to do that.

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Here you go Jess. This is the CD I wrote on. The only pen I had was a green micro sharpie. It took me some time because I thought I’d thrown it out. I have restocked my car with the appropriate writing tools.

My glasses broke today. That is not completely accurate. I broke my glasses today. There was a hair stuck in them, so I popped the lens out (which I do from time to time) and they snapped. They had gotten pretty old, so it is hardly a tragedy. I’ve ordered more, which are much more girly, but I’m hardly the model of masculinity.

I’ve spent FAR too much time making little books with my new printer. I’m trying to carefully select things I’ve written to send to my parents. Really, I seem to be looking for any excuse to not work on things that need to be worked on.

My coworker Alicia is going to help with some booklists. I’m unclear about it all right now, but it sounds like a plan… well, almost. I know I want to list the best of the certain subjects, not just have long lists of books. They really have to have been great to make the list. It is sounding like a lot of work. We’ll see what happens. I just find that looking up certain subjects (things I want to read) can be hard because there don’t seem to be good resources out there for some subjects.

Okay, that was rather long winded for having said nothing.

Alone, Alaska

The pumpkin is covered in snow;
I’ve found myself taking refuge
on the crowded velvet cushion,
I could stand here, waiting
for the snow to melt,
hiding in a corner alone.
At least I would find the quiet I was looking for.
Solitude makes me feel closer to nature,
but I don’t feel like being closer just now.
The cold has forgotten to lift from here
and my heart has grown fond of snow and ice,
the very elements that have removed
me from my quiet repose.
I look forward to meditation and calm,
to sitting on the lawn,
overgrown with dandelions,
beautiful blooms making me
close my eyes and feel God within me.
For now, I’ll take what I can get,
taking life from the faces of people
around me; weaving that life into lines of words.
Oh solace, elusively greeting me,
ready with this world still hard
from the months of frozenness.
And I feel the power of this place
in ways that change with seasons,
feel the huddling masses,
each individual finding a way to self,
all of us alone in this together,
penguins of the North,
tightly packed for warmth,
but barely knowing our neighbors.

5.20.2008

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Oil Man

In secret places I’ve longed to revisit,
he adds new people to his life and the closeness we never had fades in the sad recesses of time. I’ve been forgotten and replaced.
Hidden away in shadowy restaurants, places I was shown the ways I wanted to be loved, new faces grace tables with conversations that are familiar, the responses changing — improving.
I’ve regretted not finding him again and not loving him enough (not loving him in ways I wanted to and could have).
It is a life I gave up to be someone I grew to hate; a life never offered, but hovering over our friendship.
We traveled to the West, to passions we didn’t share, for a weekend that would change who we had been.
I remember how I longed for something more, not only from him, but from me and how I felt the presence of our fear in the room, breathing deeply and making us sad.
I wish he were here, forgiving me, showing me that love still exists for me in his heart. I want him to kiss me, but still afraid, I’d wish it were a hug.
There are times of mistakes, times that cannot be summoned to this present with all the power of my heart… times that I miss.
But scattering the bones of lives I wanted to live across infinity makes the present sad. I need to hold on and keep them close, reminders of motives that make me who I am.

Notes

Written 19 May 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska.

Brian Fuchs, “Oil Man” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

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untitled [‘collecting’]

I’m still collecting the members of my family
Each one, perfect in their way,
makes the days easier to accept
despite the loneliness, despite the pain
Sometimes, it seems that love flows
endlessly from me, welcoming too many
but bolts of bitterness remind
me of the pointlessness
the seeming pointlessness
and newly placed friends drop silently
to the ground, landing in a pile,
a lump, a twisted bit
that I’ll soon stop thinking about.

5.8.2008

The following poem isn’t my favorite, but it was so formed in my head and in order to not lose it, I wrote it on a discarded blank CD, which was the only blank surface I could find at that moment.

Love Is Simple

It hasn’t been enough to love people
to grasp at them, lightning bugs
I want to jar and admire.
They’ve been too quick, lighting up
and confusing me.
Tactic must change
approach needs to be more subtle
style needs refined
and words need to be heard.
Love is such a simple request
yet it seems among
the most elusive of gifts.
I’m no longer willing to feel
punished by time, by God (or god),
by the will of those who just
don’t want me.
My heart longs to be filled,
my eyes long to gaze into another’s
and this request feels
like it will never be granted.

5.15.2008Continue Reading

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It seems like life is rushing by and not much is happening. I feel that way a lot; I’ve likely communicated that before. It is again true. And I am tired. All of the not doing anything makes me very tired. I always have more energy while I am doing more than I should, going daily to the gym and running all over God’s very white and grey Anchorage to drive friends to and from work. Those days lend life to the duller moments, creating pockets of creativity at home. Those are the days I long for.

I suspect that my readership is perhaps at a total of four people, all not-so-eagerly waiting to see what I will post next, but even so, those who look at this site will notice the dramatic change recently. I don’t think I like it nearly as much as I set out to, but it will work until I find a WordPress theme that is absolutely perfect for me. Honestly, I’ve found a number of perfect themes, but they are broken in some way or they are outdated and no longer customizable with newer versions of WordPress. That is all very unfortunate and has lead me to this ill-fitting theme, which is quite beautiful and dark, but does not exude Brian-ness. The lack of April postings is due to the repeated death of the site over March and April, but that problem has now been corrected. I am able to do more of what I want and the site has been upgraded to decrease the chances of a repeat explosion. For those of you who are unable or unwilling to look at the right side of your screen, I’ve included the picture I have used for this theme.

It is certainly clear that I have been busily writing. I’ve posted only a handful of the poems on here, as many of them are a bit more risque and I have chosen to not alienate those who have been previously offended by the things I post. There may soon appear a small section on this site labeled appropriately to keep innocent eyes away; their decision to investigate will not be my fault and they will only answer to themselves and me to myself for the outrage caused by what seem to me pure thoughts. Oh, the scandal you may be foreseeing!

I’ve come to a decision about my writing. I was simply keeping in practice with no clearly defined goal before. I would like to write a novel. I’ve been plotting it out and am looking forward to seeing what comes of this. It is a great undertaking for everyone who attempts it and I hope I can live up to my own expectations. While I will certainly continue posting poems and other writings here, I do not currently have any intention of offering up snippets of the novel for previewing. I will share in parts privately with a couple of people for specific reasons, but should I ever finish it, I will gladly share it with the world.

I suppose there is little more to say than that. A poem, which may erroneously sound like I have given up vegetarianism. I have not.Continue Reading

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Ham

Mimi made me a ham,
glazed with honey and smelling sweetly,
a surprise so I wouldn’t have to eat turkey.
The aroma greeted us as we entered,
lingering and melding with others,
bread and cranberries and pumpkin.
We were all gathered, talking over each other
about the small dramas that consume us,
catching up after months apart.
Mimi would fuss over the details,
direct whoever was around to place spoons
or get the rolls out of the oven.
I’d stand nervously waiting.
Papa would call us to settle and bow heads,
and he’d give thanks for the bounty and
say words about our health and Jesus.
Amens would follow, and the kids would
converge to be first to go through
a carefully laid out buffet line. I’d wait,
and my mom and I would exchange a look,
her giving me the permission I needed.
I’d get to the end of the line and pile turkey
onto my plate, skipping the ham,
a particular favorite of others.
Mimi eventually would sit down,
time finally for her to enjoy the company.
I wouldn’t say anything, avoiding conflict,
hoping she hadn’t noticed me
at the kids’ table in the adjacent room.
But she would notice, and she would apologize
and she and I would laugh about it.
She would make a mental note about
Brian not liking ham, a note she would lose.
The next time we’d gather,
the next time Mimi spent days cooking,
organizing everyone’s particular tastes,
I’d arrive again to the smell of a ham,
cooked especially for me, and I’d smile.
I still don’t eat ham,
but nobody makes it for me anymore.

Brian Fuchs, “Ham” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

Written 26 April 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska & 11 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.Continue Reading