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David Eugene, look at me when I’m thinking about you!

I’m a disciple, a child of your narcissism.
an inadequate acolyte of your worst impulses,
treasonous and suspicious, even in my reverence.
Love is wrapped in sarcasm, in mocking and making-fun.
I pray these are truths, and that you are as transparent as you seem.

I only see the Davids for who they are,
blind to who they want me to see, who they wish they were.
I only see you for who you are,
but I feel the person you want me to be
growing cynically inside.
Oh David, do you not recognize the idolatry in my loyalty?
Does my face not give away my desire to be looking at my own face
when I am looking at you?

The tears stay close, pooling in eyelids, fighting their impulse
to race down my cheek toward knowing I am fully myself,
and not who I am trying to be.
I am trying to be bold in the ways you expect,
no longer cowering in the corners where you found me.
I remember the safety of home, and the emptiness.
I felt safe in my denial, but I am liberated by your sacred teachings.

I grovel, prostrate myself before you,
foolishly and joyously feeding your need for attention.
David, you have shown me that you are more important than I am.
You are more than I am. You are existence.
I meant to steal the hearts of those around you,
meant to show them how much I had learned at your feet.
They exist, you exist, and I have revealed myself to be fragments.
You have reassured me, patted my head like a Lhasa apso,
my head cocked to one side as I attentively await praise.

Oh David, I have not been enough!
The fragments have betrayed me and revealed that I am not whole.
I’ve tried holding them together with glues and tape,
but the picture never seems real;
the other congregants have moved on, my failings insurmountable.
They have found me lacking and are uncomfortable in my presence.
Selfishness is a difficult lesson to learn; I am trying.

I’m still dwelling on my heartache, trying to release it,
unchaining my tongue and allowing bravery to escape,
to become the person I see in you, David,
or to at least to become someone whole, beautiful and brazen,
someone rewarded with love, sex, warmth.
I humbly bow, giving thanks for even a chance
to be blessed by your acceptance.

Notes

Brian Fuchs, “David Eugene, look at me when I’m thinking about you” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

Written 17 March 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska & 7 September 2018 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

 

Original version posted 17 March 2008

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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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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)