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Daniel Naranjo

I itch for the subtle way joy emerges
from your face – overcome with yourself,
with yourself.
It’s lovely. You’re lovely.
You aren’t so familiar, aren’t so unfamiliar.
In the long months between,
everything misses you.
My senses feel achy and empty without
your enchanting aura of smoke and wine.
I smile, thinking of that laugh,
you know the one,
that erupts accidentally when you’ve
amused yourself.
God, I love that laugh.
You blew in on winds you could’ve
ridden forever, resigned to not settle,
loving the feel of the dust
whipping through your pores,
hair, teeth.
You seem reluctant,
you seem reluctant,
reluctant. Or is that me?
I decided to write you a poem,
a poem of you, the you I know of,
the you who is only a slight version of you.
It took four years to say
things about your loveliness,
about the smoke and the wine,
about Oregon and Alaska,
about loving your laugh.
It wasn’t just joy, was it?
I detected some shame,
loved that shame, if that’s what it was,
wanted to live in that feeling.
I’ll remember that face,
remembering how much I love you,
and I’ll exist for a few seconds
in that moment, that feeling,
inside a space you created.
I believe in horses and you,
I believe in me and you,
I believe in you
and you.

Notes

Written 25 October 2011 in Anchorage, Alaska.

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

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Happy St Patrick’s Day to all. I’m spending my 13th* creating a special birthday present for Kerith. I’ll post a photo after I give it to her. Next year, I’ll attempt something more for this day. This year, low key feels just right.

*y’all know what it means… right?

Here’s Kerith’s gift.

Yep, it’s a two-headed giraffe.

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Hooray for Heather! She has some of my all time favorite arms, which we were graced with daily when I worked with her selling books and coffee to people who I couldn’t stand. And Heather almost always smells pretty. Way to be awesome, little Heather.

Other stuff worth mentioning:

•My computer died. I’m using an even more ancient one. Dreadful!

•I have a tire on my car that requires air twice a day and a bank account incapable of supporting the purchase of a new tire. I’ve been cranky about it today.

•Earlier today, I had a Totino’s pizza. Say what you will about them, I still love them. They do make my house smell gross for a great many hours after though.

•I have so many ideas in my head I might just explode. If I do this over a notebook, maybe some of them will live on. I am trying to make this super collision of three different genres. I really should focus on my book.

•I was cranky with David and now I feel bad about it. Like I said, the tire. But also I’ve been really tired and my back has been hurting. I’m really not in a bad mood though.

•I miss last year. I want Daniel to be happy. I miss Daniel this week. I think it is better that I took a break from him. I think my feelings had taken a wrong turn. I don’t want to mess things up by being me about him.

•I really do enjoy drinking tea.

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untitled [mediocrity]

How are we preparing ourselves to be gods,
to shed these skins and rise to greatness?
I’ve been expecting miracles and have found
normalcy.
Mediocrity is punishment for lack of passion,
a pain I’ve allowed to flow through me,
finding ways to penetrate my fibers.
I’m looking for ways to free the me who
screams and wants to be released.

10.15.2008

The creative block continues. It took considerable time to squeeze the above from my head and I really believe that while writing should be a lot of work, it shouldn’t be this difficult. Perhaps I need to put aside my silly fears and just write the things I know would flow easily. Perhaps I should try harder. I’m waiting for that elusive muse the deliver a swift kick to my backside and get me moving. Maybe I’ve waited too long; I should just do it myself.

So, the snow come to us about a month earlier than it did last year. I’m both annoyed and relieved by its return. I do love the crispness of the air when I walk outside in the morning. It blasts me awake in a refreshing way. I love the stillness of a busy city when it is blanketed in softness that blocks out the sound. To be surrounded by bustling and still feel peaceful is a surreal experience that summer doesn’t offer in the same way for me. But I had already forgotten about the driving. I’ll get over it soon enough and it won’t feel like such a big deal to never seem to get through the intersections fast enough. In the meantime, I’ll try to be careful and not let the roads distract me. This place is already piling up with cars crashing into one another. I don’t really want to be a part of that.

Inspiration will come. I trust that. I also know I’m probably forcing it a bit, which won’t help. Maybe I need to get out, have a little fun for once and let my creativity work itself out.

Happy Birthday to KC, Meghan, & my 7 year old kitten, Franz.

Featured Image Art: photo of Franz

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The 2 f’s
run through giraffe
like 2 giraffes

{Ron Padgett}

Happy birthday to a couple of people I love. Y’all know who you are.

I spent a couple days in Seward with my Sourdough family. It was nice; our trip was in celebration of another marvelous year ticked for Mr. David, but somehow transcended him and was a welcoming moment in all of our lives. I rarely am able to share the beauty of my own birthday and I remain impressed that David was so willing to do such a thing. Some sort of Alaskan magic permeated that place and made our outing seem like some sort of grand vacation instead of the overnight quickie that it really was. Denis, thank you for guidance. Daniel, thank you for the camaraderie. David, thank you for being born. And a very big thank you to the folks in Seward who were uncommonly wonderful people.

It snowed yesterday.

Although I was one of the many Alaskans who sighed a financial sigh of relief recently, I must say all this freedom from worry has made Brian a dull boy. I’ve been doing what I want and when I want to do it. Time to pull back the reigns a little before I find myself begging for food. With this enthusiastic consumerism has come a huge creative block for me. Nothing is flowing as freely as I want it to and my site is suffering for it. Sometimes, there is nothing painful to say, which I suppose is a good thing in a way.

I need to get out of town more often; I enjoy this place.

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I’ve been focused on crafting lately… cardmaking and scrapbooking in particular. I’m trying to do things that are unique to me, but sometimes it is hard to find stuff that doesn’t end up making my pages look like everyone else’s. I’d also like to get into artist trading cards (both collecting and making them). I only wish this stuff hadn’t gotten so expensive recently. I’ve been putting stuff on scrapbook.com to get some feedback… there are some really talented people on that site. I’ll probably put stuff on Craftster soon too, but haven’t done much on there yet.

my scrapbook.com gallery
Tim Holtz (I love grungeboard!)
Cosmo Cricket
Paperwishes
Martha Stewart Crafts

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

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

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

And on an unrelated note:

This Journey Seems Long

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

8.14.2008

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Birth

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

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

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

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

Birds

Summer failed to arrive in this grey urbanity.
Anchorage feels naked, empty
without the carpet of ice and snow crunching below.
I was aware of it when lupines and wild roses
heralded the arrival of what should have been June.
I was keenly aware of the missing white when
flowers conceded, accepting the cruelty of warmthlessness.
This city is wet now, as the great lion arrives.
Saddened by this dreary failure, the cat weeps,
drizzles pulling themselves from a sky
that has married itself with concrete.
The world darkens, turning even more grey and distant.
All hope escapes of summer, of warmth.
It’ll return to Alaska now, the familiar cold driving
away smaller birds and welcoming ravens.
In the merriment of an metropolitan buffet,
they’ll shoo the clouds, revealing the sun,
shining brightly on the brief days of a frozen world.

7.27.2008

Lightning Bugs

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.

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.

5.15.2008

Whale
ode to my vanity

I sneak upon you, surprising you
from beneath your feet.
From not knowing to knowing,
I grow enormous and fill you field of view,
become your entire world for a few moments.
I press on away from you towards newness,
fading slowly away into the blue and into
the recesses of your mind,
an image of something that was,
but that is no longer so impressive.
I long to rekindle the wonder you felt
the first time I allowed you to see,
but the second time I swim by
you’ll think you remembered me larger.

3.29.2008

Sun Vs. Son

Sun
Falling rays prove merciless;
the hospital all robed in pink fills with babies,
exhausted mothers
breathless
from rising heat.
Son,
colored like the sun and screaming,
comfort taken too hastily.
The minty green dressed men and women
put the baby in a box, shine lights,
drain the sun from his skin.
Rejoicing, the sun burns more fiercely.
The world sighs.

8.4.2008

The Short Reign of a Queen

Heather warmly picked up the old girl,
dusted her off and proudly placed her
high on a pedestal.
Norma purred, closed her eyes.
The two fell in love among yaps
and slobbers.
Comfort, home, family, importance.
Heather’d created a queen and Norma
was content to be crowned.
Amid celebrations of the new monarch,
Norma’s life quietly expired.
Heather’s heart broke and tears flooded
the world; nobody could be as they once were.

7.11.2008

The Short Reign of a Queen is a revised version of a poem I had been afraid to post. I think it captures the situation now, so I offer it to the world.

Smoking, Waiting

With clouds of nothing else to occupy my time,
I’ve paced the walkways in front of jobs
where I arrived too early, cigarette in hand,
waiting for purpose.
Work is not and cannot be life or love,
the search for these things prevents
nervousness and the need to smoke.

4.16.2008

Featured Image Art: photo by David Clode (via Unsplash)

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I’ve always felt solitary. Not alone, not always lonely, but content to just be with myself. But I need the company of loved ones more often than I remember and the lack of such company makes keeping my head up an arduous endeavor. I certainly don’t take joy in sounding miserable when all indications are that I am rather happy, but I am not as satisfied with my life as I could be.

I’ve felt hurt by the rather unintentional acts of both of my close friends in Alaska. And while it has been easy to point to them as the cause of my hurt, it has been dishonest on my part. They have been living quite happy lives, lives I am so happy that each of them has found. If I were faced with a life filled with someone to give all this love to, I too might become rather inconsiderate of the feelings of mere friends. But that knowledge does not mitigate the emotional pain. They are not responsible for my perpetual bachelorhood and I don’t fault them for their happiness. It can be difficult to realize that I don’t sit at the center of other people’s worlds.

Existential crises are becoming common. Friends tend to distract me enough to not over think what it means to be me. Forgive my depressed ramblings and heavy heart. I just feel alone sometimes and I just want someone else to know about it. I’m fine; I always am.

Featured Image Art: AI Image (created using StarryAI)

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I think the previously posted poem Hiking At Kennicott will either will be edited to be shorter or fleshed out to be an essay. I like it, but it is almost begging to be prose. I find myself rather blocked this week. Perhaps it has been the turmoil this past week seems to be in. Things are in disarray. It causes me to not want to face myself and I slink into my corner and pretend I don’t want to write. In reality, nothing would bring me greater joy in difficult times. Facing myself always seems to convince me that I like me more than I thought and still troubles me because I don’t understand how I can still be alone. I’m feeling rather desperate to have what those around me have and desperation causes foolishness. I hope I can keep the antics at bay. In the meantime, I’ll risk a poem on here that could potentially offend those mentioned in it. It is about three people I love a great deal — a family of sorts. Like all families, it is the quirks of individuals that sometimes receive the focus. It rarely means that those quirky people are thought of any less.

Reflections On My [Alaskan] Family

The pariah’s made up in all shades of green,
needlessly feeling pain, self-induced and unwarranted.
It’s hard to feel unconventional in world of unconventional people;
the appeal diminishes.
I’m melding with others,
whose lives barely cross mine and I feel again like a third wheel.
And I feel love. Love.
Quantified love. David first, me last, Daniel in between?
Quantified love?
Really?
Is it orderable, rankable, defined in aboveness?
The pariah feels sucked in and ever more distant,
perhaps well-placed feelings. Family.
Quantified?
I cannot see it. Not through the thick haze of love.
The boss makes diplomatic concessions for the patriarchal figure head
and I tend to understand [and to not understand].
The pariah’s green vestments seem to flash with new vibrance;
I can’t even get attention from myself. Love? Love. It’s possible.
Expanding, filling the room, feeling myself uncomfortable
and taking up space, wondering how I can be ignored.
Deflate the elephant. And sometimes I do it myself,
shrinking to almost nothing,
transparent.
I take perch and watch my family below grow ever closer
without me, saddened by my own inability to include myself.
The charmer found David and I can’t see the path to follow;
fields of sweetly scented flowers cover the trail that so recently existed.
The green is increasing.
I wish I could figure out how to remove this person who hides me,
shuck him from the golden ear of me inside.
I don’t believe in quantified love.
It is an expression of “like.”
Love holds us to standards we don’t often hold ourselves to,
expects us to look past ourselves.
The pariah’s only a pariah in his own eyes and longs to not be green.
Moist sounds of boys keeping each other warm make me
simultaneously happy and enraged.
Enraged at me, at ignorance, at my insufferability.
I won’t stand for this and demand that I not be the spoiled brat
who wants what everyone else has got.
I’m me and I’ll get mine when I accept that.
Quantified love? No.
I don’t love myself less than — or more than –
only as much as anyone else.
The boss will keep tabs on the situation,
very occasionally checking to see how I’m doing.
It’s easiest when he speaks about making love
with the charmer.
I feel less jealous the more he mentions it, happier.
More…
I will not be ranked and when my turn comes,
I’ll flood friends with my happiness.
And they’ll smile, genuinely proud of me.
The pariah is thinking more of himself.

6.14.2008

Image: photo of David, Daniel, & Brian (between McCarthy, Alaska & Kennicott Mine)

Featured Image Art: photo of David, taken on trip to Kennicott

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I got out of Anchorage for nearly three days. David, Daniel, Denis, & I took a trip to McCarthy & Kennecott in the Copper River Basin. Kennecott is an old mining town that was abandoned in 1938. The trip was beautiful, therapeutic, and well-deserved by all of us.

Honestly, I imagined great tension and possible distance on our return, but the four of us play very well off one another and if I can get over my jealousy that the other three live in two adjacent houses far from me, I think we’ll continue to have a strong relationship.

I’m not a nature person… so I say, but I do really enjoy getting out and doing things like this trip. I mainly say these things about not being a nature person to prevent people from inviting me on adventures that I can resent them for going on later. I should see someone about that, but for now I will just admit it and try to deal with it. I seem to be all too willing to sabotage my own happiness. Curious. I think getting a little nature all over me was good.

My pictures will be around soon. Too tired to care tonight.

Hiking At Kennicott

We chose stones carefully, stepping goat-like
across the field of glacier
deposits,
rocks brought here by powerful ice.
We made our way along the river, through a
density of silt.
I followed a narrow trail, curiosity claiming one, two, then all
three of my companions.

My path lay flat, carved from trees and grasses on the hills,
running along the very center of each towering, but small peak
and back down again.
The path only briefly meandered
through some trees
and then I emerged again, taking my place atop the next hill.

The 3 appeared in the distance at my new height,
far in the distance and now far
behind me.
Waving, we acknowledged our continued group hike,
now made one person short.
My feet took me forward and I pressed on,
again goating my way
over sloped white rock,
my clear and flattened path disappearing and then
reappearing some ways below me.

Preoccupied with safety, I’d been unaware of beauty
that was rising up and spreading out around me.
White, green
beige
grey, pink
green
I turned my head to see the glacier,
angrily peering from beneath its rocky blanket, spilling stones
and streaming water into a vast pool
that lay idle a moment,
trying to get its bearings before
heading towards the river.

In the distance I saw my friends and spoke to them
with a barely raised voice.
I guarded the glacier discovery, allowing them the chance
to experience and awe at the mighty size of the creature.
Disappearing into a pass that took them out of view,
I continued on,
drawn by some magic the trail had conjured.

Increasing heights made the hills more difficult, exhilarating,
sweaty.
Another rocky slope found my feet less sure,
challenging me with loose rocks.
My friends came to mind,
unseen for a long while.
The path diminished a bit at the line of trees began
to impede my passage.

My name rang gently through the valley once
(that I heard).
I turned, collected a rock and headed back to the group.
My back wet with sweat,
shirt clinging exhaustedly to my skin,
I felt a rush of new freedom,
of accomplishment,
solitude.
I sprinted now, over peaks that had seemed so difficult,
my feet never flinching on the now familiar trail.

I dashed up hills and pranced lightly down,
increasingly eager to get back to the company of friends,
family.
I slowed and walked slowly up a hill and saw the orange hat
making its way up to the same point, the hill with the view —
the perfect view of the white faces, lodged and straining.

We clicked our cameras, in awe
and I could now see the other two below, resting on rocks,
lazily taking Nature in,
hearts full.
I hopped down to the bed of boulders, where they had veered
and danced ceremoniously down towards the lodge.
Weary, wet, hot,
my feet were no longer trustworthy and my movements
required more thought.

Back safely at our cabin, we had a tailgate feast of whatever
each of us could find: olives, cookies, whole chickens, tuna salad,
carrots, juice, apples, nuts, dried cranberries, soda,…
Blissfully, the lovers among us retired
to the deck of the great common building
to share a romantic ramen and wine dinner,
alone finally,
content.

Creativity oozed out of anywhere it could and houses built
themselves on imagined sites of beautiful dreams that
seem to be coming true.
Wine gave way to haughty birds and the words once again
took over my hand.
We all seemed to be looking towards the glacier,
a pure moment carrying over and living on.
Alaska is good.

6.14.2008

I really like where I was trying to go with this next one. The day after I said it, there was a discussion in the truck about how everyone felt the same way about this. Even though I felt like the sentiment had been justified, I still don’t quite know how to phrase that last line to have maximum impact. Hmm… Oh, and if the title doesn’t stick with this poem, it WILL be the title of a similarly themed poem.

The Musk Ox & the Unicorn In Single Combat

Some people dream up mythical places with colors pulled from curious recesses,
fantastic creatures conjured up, unknown to man.
Some people write of beautiful worlds, misty moored landscapes and jagged
mountain peaks cutting through the sky towards gods just imagined.
Poets pull detail from made-up places;
describe them in wrapped beauty and make awe from the seemingly mundane.
Some people tell tales of lovely people doing spectacular things — heroes, heroines,
trailblazing pioneers making paths towards alien places.
I get to live in Alaska.

6.13.2008

Images: photos taken during trip with David, Daniel, & Denis

Featured Image Art: photo of Kennicott Mine

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10th & Cordova

I’m working on feeling unconventional
in a world of unconventional people.
I’m melding with others,
with those whose lives barely cross mine,
I am again like a loose bit
dangling from a ragged tree branch.
And I feel love. Love.
Quantified love. Finite and sequenced love.
Quantified?
I know I’m last. The love left is different,
the love is coated with a sticky doubt.
Denis is made up in shades of green,
needlessly feeding himself pain, gorging himself on his own thoughts.
His love is ranked, ordered, defined by hierarchy.
Denis uses his love to feel closeness,
and he wraps that love in money. Family.
Quantified? Finite?
David makes diplomatic concessions,
talks in circles and understanding tones, tries to hold together
things that aren’t in danger of slipping away.
He spends his time adding on to the structures, stroking egos,
helping Denis find even brighter green vestments.
I can’t even seem to get attention from myself.
Love? Love. It’s possible.
Expanding, filling the room, I feel uncomfortable
and take up too much space. How can I be ignored?
Sometimes I deflate the elephant and shrink to almost nothing,
transparent.
I shrink into a corner and watch my family below grow ever closer
without me, saddened by my own inability to include myself.
Daniel has come in, found David, taken him down a path I cannot see.
The fields of sweetly scented flowers cover the trail.
There is an increased interest in green.
I try to figure out how to be seen,
how to understand quantified love.
Denis longs to not be green, but I only know about this too late,
after I have purchased green tinted glasses that I wear when I look at him.
David and Daniel playing in the flowers makes me
simultaneously happy and enraged.
Enraged at me, at my ignorance, at how insufferable I’ve become.
Daniel brings back flowers and shares them with me,
and I am happy enough. Family.
Quantified? No.
David keeps tabs on the situation, sometimes,
very occasionally checking to see how I’m doing.
It’s easiest when he speaks about Daniel, about secrets and sex,
about the fields of flowers down the path.
I feel happy when he mentions Daniel, free.
The cracks are forming, and we are all distracted with our efforts.
I’ll soon need to purchase another pair of glasses, this time in rose.

Notes

Written 14 June 2008 in McCarthy, Alaska. Revised 1 October 2018 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “10th & Cordova” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

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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.

Featured Image Art: photo of Elton John

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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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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, lightening 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.

5.15.2008

Featured Image Art: Tiffany Lynch, “Birdys and Blossoms”