It’s been one hundred days
and if feels like it all happened
just this morning.
I’m starting to realize she’s gone –
finally missing her and ultimately
knowing I can never see her again.
I hate that morning –
when Mimi died.
Loneliness overtook me and
pain was invited in.
All I needed was a hug
from Bettina, JD, Travis, Becky,
Mom — but they weren’t there.
I’m cold inside and sad.
I miss her.
6.18.2002
Family:
This year was supposed to be better. What happened? My other grandma passed away in March and my mother revealed a drinking problem (you may remember my worry about her — she was drunk those times). All in all, it’s been sucky so far this year.
Work:
I was promoted to Music Dep’t Manager @ work. I like it, but I have been a little stressed.
Computers:
I again have an ISP, so I can write here more.Continue Reading
She looks perfect,
her familiar red dress matches
beautifully with the soft pink lining,
the red heart draped around her neck,
as if she’d just come in
from church for a nap
on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
She is calm, peaceful.
Tears stream down Papa’s face;
his wife and best friend,
the mother of his children
and the strong woman
to whom he devoted a life,
lies quietly, still the girl he married
only fifty-three years ago.
‘She really is a beautiful lady.’
Written 12 March 2002 in Stillwater, Oklahoma.
Brian Fuchs, “Bonita” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)Continue Reading
Before knowledge, peace existed.
Innocent children don’t long for the touch of others.
I’m reflecting on bird calls,
sorting out in my mind the ones that seem familiar
from the ones that are new.
Except for the mockingbirds —
their song has changed as much as I have.
I can barely tell the difference between
childish pursuits and adult desires.
Except for skin.
I find myself a poor litmus test of what I want,
what I remember wanting.
Whispers in my ear from the past — or is it the future?
I’m forgetting things I thought were important.
I don’t remember the smell of skin pressed against
my face as I sleep.
I’m trying to remember how close I can get to the sun
without tumbling to the ground.
Have I reached that limit?
The men are turning to vapor, mists deposited in a wizard’s pensieve
filled with what I choose to remember as unbridled passion.
I’m searching through windows for faces,
for quiet morning sun spilling in through panes,
spotlighting the drifts of dust as they dance
like a great flock of tiny birds.
It feels like he’s still standing there, if he was ever standing there,
eating cherries on the front porch,
spitting the pits out into the garden.
I am thinking about fruity cereal.
I am thinking about the taste of cherries lingering in his mouth and the taste of mulberries lingering on mine.
I am thinking about birds and music and sex and dust.
I am thinking about the faces, the many overlooked faces.
I am thinking about vaporizing.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
calling for you and for me;
see, on the portals he’s waiting and watching,
watching for you and for me.
Written 2 November 2001 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.Continue Reading
My reality merges with memories, with desires,
is there a reality? Have these lives been mine?
Events appear in my mind, translucent and ethereal.
A lanky man in the doorway, light spilling
around his silhouette, casting him as a sort of deity,
a cigarette hanging from his lips
like he’s come from a previous century.
A burly man, his chest a thicket
of soft hair for fingers to explore,
reading Tolstoy in a dimly-lit living room, still naked.
The lamplight shines on his skin, casting strange shadows.
Is he really there?
I’m searching through faces,
longing for the smell of cigarette
smoke rubbed on my back as I’m
pulled toward a mouth still tasting of tobacco.
Or maybe I’ll find myself coyly asking about Russian literature,
massaging muscular shoulders, satisfyingly corporeal.
I’m distracting him and pretending not to be distracted by him.
I’ll kiss him until everything is wet and beautiful.
Imaginary friends rarely press their lips back,
and never with such force.
I’m searching through faces,
watching men sleep for hours.
Eyelids dance as they dream and I wonder
about the wide-eyed boy, belly full of mulberries,
a face on fire from the attention of adults, strangers.
He didn’t know about men and the uncontrollable smiles
of the attention of adults, strangers. I miss him.
The nights are filled with breathing and rustling, peaceful.
The mornings are filled with coffee and cigarettes
or the pungent sweetness of a joint
which I pretend to enjoy because he does.
Weekends are a tangle of arms and legs, old movies,
sweaty and lazy afternoons.
It is well
It is well with my soul
I stay, huddled on beds or floors.
I don’t tell stories about playing in the woods,
or about finding an armadillo skeleton,
or about my preschool teacher.
I’m searching through faces
for the man who wants to know.
Written 29 October 2001 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.Continue Reading
Family:
I saw a movie with my uncle, which was fun. I rarely see him and I really enjoy him. We saw Riding In Cars With Boys — I liked it. We also went to IHOP, where I had my dinner. He is going to see about selling his condo to me! I hope it works out. I am excited.
My mom’s birthday was on the 18th and I was over the night before to see her. i worry about her. She is ALWAYS sick… she was so sick on her birthday that my dad wouldn’t let me talk to her. Oh well. I want her to go see a doctor. Not that I am any better — I am always sick and was starting to think I may be a hypochondriac for a while… probably not. I’d like to visit home one of these times without mom being sick.
Work:
I have been depressed for a while — my review actually was worse than I had imagined and I did not get my raise… That is why it got postponed so much. My dep’t mgr didn’t want to tell me that I did poorly. Really I know I earned my raise, but I decided to not let it get to me. It’s just $15 extra bucks I would blow anyway. And I think it can be reevaluated in a few months. Nothing to stress too much over. I also decided not to make excuses about it, although no such agreement was made for Xanga. I feel that I may have not done my best in the past year, but I really had a hard year. Starting with Oct 2000: my good friend, Justin (for whom I am a caretaker in many ways), is in and out of mental hospitals following the death of his grandma, who is more like his mother to him, my grandma (“G”) starts to get very sick, severe pains send me to doctor, who does several tests and finds NOTHING wrong, my great grandma (Artie) dies, exactly one week later, G dies, Justin continues in and out of hospitals (not giving me a chance to mourn), I become severley depressed, my dad’s sister and family cut off contact with us because of my dad’s decision to give a fewe pieces of furniture to me and my brothers (being the executor of her estate and having spent 6 months watching her die, he feels justified), Justin moves in, Justin’s great grandma dies, Brad proposes to Janessa, which I cannot tell, my roommates prepare to move after a guy staying with us for a week takes off with their $70, I prepare for Brad & Jess to move in, Jess is now pregnant, Brad & Jess get married, Brad gets a promotion and decides to not move, forcing me to move, my roommates reveal that they are moving because I am impossible to live with, Justin and I move into a small apartment,… and here I am. Never in my life has so much happened in one year.
So at work they moved me to the gift section in an effort to spark interest, not realizing that the deep depression prevents interest of any kind in anything. Oh well… I am excited about the new section though. And I have a new dep’t mgr… May. She is awesome. And I can go back to liking Tim.Continue Reading
Writing:
Whew, pathetic.org is finally up again, and what a relief that I can finally start to write. It was always a good way to get me writing. I should start here soon. I have so much in my head to get out, what with the attacks, the new baby on the way, my great grandma is now 100! Lots…
Friends:
I talked to my friend Jerry tonight. It had been a couple of months. I feel bad that I don’t call, but he is a difficult person to remain friends with because he doesn’t really try. His friends don’t stick by him long… that makes me quite sad for Jerry. He will find real love some day.Continue Reading