tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62985373948643164442024-03-13T08:13:26.753-04:00A Bear and a Moose Walk Into a BarSTWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-46866651343235125762017-05-23T15:10:00.002-04:002017-05-23T15:10:30.499-04:00Time does that tricky thingDays squeeze past me like eggs from a chicken.<br />
<br />
No no, that doesn't work.<br />
<br />
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'... into the future.<br />
<br />
Well that's certainly not news. It's been NINE years since I started this blog. Nine years ago I took up another mantle, something else to feed and care for. Nine years since I had the thought that I could take on more.<br />
<br />
Occasionally I think I can take on more -- but not so often any more. Things I've done since I started this blog, actually eight and a half years ago: fallen in love, multiple times; had my heart broken, multiple times; found that a friend I thought I had I did not, multiple times. I've misspent my money and only occasionally really regretted it. I had a Vespa and I crashed it, resulting in my first and only (knock on wood) ambulance ride. I started practicing martial arts, stopped (after the crash), and started again. I almost got married again. I've changed jobs, but only once.<br />
<br />
In all this time I have been living alone, although I did nearly move in with a woman, only to wind up moving in with a different friend. I've learned to be more silent, to tell less. Even now I scan through these words to wonder if I'm saying too much. I learned to hold back, to not reply, to not answer, and just sit in silence.<br />
<br />
More often I wish I had less... less crap in my apartment, less dust and fewer dishes. Less time spent at work, knotting my muscles in my shoulders over a keyboard and mouse, doing things I have little desire to do, though they pay me. They pay me and I persist. I haven't found enough courage to forge out on my own. Maybe one day.... STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-24385428238783301172015-06-13T00:17:00.001-04:002015-06-13T00:27:14.596-04:00Columbo loses his shit over Faye Dunaway, who is not really paying attention to him at all<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yeah okay, I thought maybe I was tripping. But I verified it. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0106589/reviews-8">http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0106589/reviews-8</a></span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That smokin' hot version of Faye Dunaway is flirting BIG TIME with the chick from Rome. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I almost lost it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was like -- I know it's June an' all. Pride and all. But....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Damn, I love Columbo. </span></div>
STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-83323285697381091832015-03-12T06:32:00.003-04:002015-03-12T06:32:52.471-04:00The time in Greece, in case you wanted to know that.
<iframe src="http://free.timeanddate.com/clock/i4l0eye0/n26/bas2/pa3/tt0/tw0/tm1/ts1/tb4" frameborder="0" width="97" height="42"></iframe>STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-78914813808815051112015-03-11T22:17:00.003-04:002015-03-11T22:17:44.984-04:00Not ETS Approved Or Otherwise High Scoring ProseI sit with my fingers on the keyboard, pensive and stuck, frozen by the photos sliding by on the laptop screen. These are the images I’ve captured over the last several months, either by camera on my phone or maybe a screen capture. They span years, actually, and re-tell the story of my life in a disjointed timeline, occasionally not referencing me at all. Maybe they are just ideas I had, or a friend had. Or an element of society at the time. Something that whizzed by. A beautiful woman. A bear.
STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-14802657874401117662015-02-24T22:23:00.001-05:002015-02-24T22:25:32.402-05:00what time is it in Australia?<iframe src="http://free.timeanddate.com/clock/i4k830on/n240/fn16/fs16/tct/pct/ftb/bas3/bat5/pa3/tt0/tw1/tm1/th1/ts1/ta1/tb4" frameborder="0" width="156" height="52" allowTransparency="true"></iframe>
STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-85117659788086190602014-10-20T15:59:00.000-04:002014-10-20T15:59:52.743-04:00Too Late, Too LongMy eyes are tired and always closing<br />
If I sit still long enough, I will fall asleep<br />
For me, this means I am old<br />
<br />
My neck hurts, my knees hurt<br />
For me, this means I am old<br />
<br />
When I sit still long enough and think about<br />
the ones I've loved,<br />
what it feels like to lie in bed on a lazy afternoon<br />
with sunlight streaming through the windows<br />
setting dust mites to sparkle<br />
and time stands still as you<br />
hold hands<br />
touch noses<br />
gaze into the eyes of one you love<br />
<br />
how long has it been?<br />
<br />
I have had that. More than once I have had a<br />
blissful moment of<br />
crazy love<br />
And More Than Once<br />
I have appreciated the hell outta that moment<br />
<br />
I have<br />
<br />
I didn't let it go to waste.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-672502703461561332012-12-28T16:00:00.000-05:002012-12-28T16:00:02.729-05:00obstinatethe muscles under my scalp are stretched too thin<br />
they crisp and buckle when I turn my head<br />
the sun sneaks inside my closed eyelids<br />
miami blue shocks of electricity dance across<br />
the field of vision of a closed eye<br />
I turn, strain my neck and push against the world<br />
<br />
I stand, short but firm<br />
and stand against the world<br />
<br />STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-87108291982400609902012-12-28T08:00:00.000-05:002012-12-28T08:39:22.963-05:00a prayer for the skepticalblessings<br />
to be grateful, from your core<br />
<br />
to wish for peace<br />
peace in your ears, peace in your home<br />
peace in your bones<br />
<br />
stretching out to search for<br />
this is the blessing of grace<br />
to seek out to reach for<br />
in this way I thank<br />
<br />
delicate bits of language<br />
guttural vowel boggles the mind<br />
<br />
how then to praise<br />
alleluyah, they will shout<br />
getting it all wrong<br />
<i>hallel</i> is the song of praise<br />
that's what they say<br />
they've said<br />
for centuries<br />
this is the way it's been.<br />
It is glorious, if not dusty<br />
It is heartfelt, if just a little wrong<br />
<br />
getting it right is impossible<br />
so many ways to do it wrong<br />
my God<br />
I try, then I tire of trying<br />
I am tired<br />
but I believe that morning still will come<br />
<br />
there will be a day, when I miss that sunrise<br />
and I know that day is no where near<br />
<br />
I can't carry them all over, every day<br />
some I let slip away<br />
some I reget the slipping<br />
some I calculate it up and reckon it right<br />
sometimes I wonder what I could've done different<br />
could've done to get it right<br />
then I remember<br />
right is impossible, really<br />
<br />
either you bounce back, or you don't<br />
you might lay there for a while<br />
not bouncing.<br />
then a spring appears<br />
like the magic of Miriam<br />
Magic.<br />
Because we have no idea.<br />
Beautiful magic.<br />
Thank you, source of beautiful magic,<br />
of times that seem to work out just right<br />
of moments of incredible beauty<br />
Thank you.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-18233273587609875442012-12-27T16:49:00.000-05:002012-12-27T16:49:00.935-05:00candice christineusury capricious<br />
flourishing fighting<br />
caps and stock, fraught with naught<br />
captain cattle, head steer<br />
all glory, no balls<br />
<br />
structured strained yet cemented with<br />
centuries of dust<br />
mites molden into thy veins<br />
Would you prune an afflicected finger,<br />
or sever a weakened limb?<br />
or would you care to heal heal<br />
strive against what is surely a sisyphian system<br />
<br />
your struggle cuts orange stripes across my shoulders<br />
your sugar fairies dance lightly on my tongue<br />
but the fire of your wrath stings still<br />
<br />
I am the ogre<br />
come to tame the tamed<br />
uncover their writhing and say:<br />
you could cut this off.<br />
You could sever yourself from this cancer<br />
or you could try to heal it and infect yourself in the process<br />
I am the hammer, come with force and brutish foul<br />
<br />STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-44907897958627647512012-12-26T15:41:00.002-05:002012-12-26T15:43:13.710-05:00On Why Life Is Not FairIt's not fair, to be writing only at the beginning and the ending. There was so much inbetween. A heaven sandwich, with a bitter nut hidden in the cream. She said she knew at the beginning, when she was trying not to start. That's what she said. Maybe if we had had this conversation then, instead of the one we did.... Maybe if things had been different, things would be different. Maybe I never woulda had that sandwich.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's why.<br />
<br />
Still.<br />
<br />
So, post-mortem details of the cream are: hours at a bookstore, reading and talking excitedly; walking in the cooling air amid trees beginning to turn; reading more and more talking, good discussions; drumming; a lovely assortment of passion-filled encounters; luscious days in Hershey, full of patience and sweetness.<br />
<br />
That sweetness, asked for again instead of the pushy drive, got the response about "my needs too." "Really? Really?" I thought driving through the rain, taking her home for the last time. I was appalled at the assumption, at the entitlement. Let me introduce you to the idea of My Body and also What I Say Is What I Mean.<br />
<br />
This vicious streak was a raspberry syrup to my delightful creamy heaven sandwich. I hate raspberries. It was new and now it is gone.<br />
<br />
Ah but the nut, the nut of truth (what <i>is</i> truth?) and justice (is there ever justice?). I didn't care about the American way, but I am committed to the Jewish way. Like, directly, purposefully, this thing I will care for, I will not give it up. It's the basis for my breath. It's my guide, with whom I argue and question, to whom I give thanks. It's my reason for loving, the reason I <i>can</i> love. I have the ability to fall in love so so quickly. I'm <i>easy</i> like that. I give my love away for free. And having decided that alone is not so bad, I am ratcheting up my selection process and filtering out what is not good for me. I gained this super power directly after my first and only mikvah. True.<br />
<br />
Yes, my reality is woven together like this. Yours may be different. And that is awesome. I would love to hear the story of your weaving. When we try to make a cloth out of us both, and maybe add another, we all have to give -- in order to weave you have to go under.<br />
<br />
But my reality, my underpinnings, what I believe -- there's gotta be room for that. And yes I will choose my faith over passionate love for an individual, if that's the choice I have to make. That's how I roll. That was easy.<br />
<br />
It's easy to fill in the gaps in the story. Even what I write isn't complete. Making whatever assumptions you're making in your mind right now not true. There is another side to the story and I can hear her protesting now. I can see her in my mind and the vision makes me smile. I know her like this. It's not all bad, at all, even really a little. It's just not going to work.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-19226806171914891542012-12-26T15:38:00.000-05:002012-12-26T15:43:23.662-05:00excessively<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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Tell me the story</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of my people, your ancestors</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speak their truths</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And let me run my hands over their smooth stones</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tell me talk and teach </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Worrying wanted wanton souls</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weary, they are</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sing me a song, tell me your story</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whisper it </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dainty and droll</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wing me a wonder and whisk me away</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take it, take my wanton soul</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sacrifice on your altar</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let the smoke rise, a faint gift for the missing prayers</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wing me wantonly, wind my soul</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ratchet me up in a tree</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sing me a song of yearning</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wearily, wretchedly, lurching along this path</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An ogre, an eyeball, a humped back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Five hairs sprouting on the roof of her head</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Six rolls wiggling, neck to knee indeed</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Six spoons spitting sugar and candy and weed</div>
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Six strings singing</div>
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Lost in the sound the light from above</div>
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Six maids a milking, as they always were</div>
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A particular sound</div>
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<br /></div>
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Brief the potter, prepare the store</div>
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Brief the messenger, tell her more</div>
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Set siege to the city</div>
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From the tombs down below</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sing the sweet city to sleep</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sing the sweet city</div>
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Sleep</div>
STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-89431682353351472652012-10-08T10:55:00.001-04:002012-10-08T10:55:33.841-04:00(something old, left unpublished)Oh a kiss of words! A delight.<br />
Finally from a love<br />
From one who knows how to stroke me right.<br />
<br />
This, this nugget of me from old<br />
I dusted this off. It's of you<br />
Your family those folk you know.<br />
<br />
To me this is how I am loved.<br />
Seems strange. And quickly morose, denied.<br />
I wonder<br />
Why<br />
<br />
No, it's fabulous to get that<br />
But wanting is pure hell<br />
Waiting... I should practice waiting.<br />
<br />
I do. I try to find LONG stretches of time.<br />
Hang on long moments.<br />
Always alone.<br />
<br />
There's something to that. This thing.<br />
Alone.<br />
I would like to be alone, next to someone. To get that spaceSTWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-22084727219926984412012-06-25T16:59:00.001-04:002012-06-25T16:59:30.190-04:00By Requesttime being not of the essence<br />
I work my way through work,<br />
largely thinking of last night<br />
replaying each scene<br />
<br />
do you do that?<br />
<br />
the initial meeting -- full of fright and delight<br />
a handshake, a shock<br />
lips, glossed and luminous<br />
eyes, big and bright<br />
I was immediately in.<br />
<br />
Awkward, yes, but there<br />
leading you down the sidewalk<br />
buying beverages and sitting in the shade<br />
starting the talking<br />
<br />
Slightly afraid to look directly into your eyes<br />
an intense woman stared back<br />
and smiled<br />
with every cell<br />
<br />
Talking<br />
talking people talking concepts<br />
telling stories<br />
Was I talking too much?<br />
I left worrying<br />
<br />
You took notes:<br />
words you hadn't heard<br />
websites, names<br />
You insisted I correct you<br />
when your English was too English<br />
and I was delighted<br />
for so many reasons<br />
<br />
You talked about "working on the bench"<br />
and spending all your time in the lab.<br />
I imagine ueber-focused you in a long white coat<br />
unaware of an untied shoe or a half-eaten lunch<br />
<br />
We talked translation and knowing<br />
And perspective<br />
When I stopped talking you didn't squirm<br />
<br />
We dined and talked and laughed<br />
We walked and talked less and touched<br />
palm to palm, fingers entwined then not<br />
I became both more comfortable and<br />
more insecure.<br />
<br />
What next? What next?<br />
No idea but I'm flying now.<br />
<br />
Blisters bubbled on my foot.<br />
I drove you home, worried about my driving<br />
and giving you whiplash with a gear shift.<br />
<br />
You insisted on icing my blisters<br />
and I let you touch my funky feet<br />
embarrassed about untrimmed nails.<br />
<br />
I remember: playing your electronic drums<br />
and asking you to play.<br />
I remember standing behind you and you leaning back into me.<br />
The touch of you feeling like a memory<br />
The top of your head and your hair<br />
coarse under my lips.<br />
<br />
Am I going too fast? Too wild?<br />
Too close too soon?<br />
Maybe not enough!<br />
The options are endless<br />
and I ask for information:<br />
what are you thinking?<br />
<br />
a brief tour of the house and then I'm leaving<br />
Too sudden? My timing is off and my heart is racing.<br />
I'm awkward in my head but barreling through.<br />
Porch. Front door cracked open.<br />
Your face, luminous<br />
and I don't think I stopped at all to think before<br />
pressing my lips to yours<br />
<br />
Sweet softness with response<br />
Kiss and then a deep breath<br />
that may have been the world moving under you <br />
More, I want, and so I take<br />
You kiss back, with passion and reservation<br />
<br />
You shut the door and I walk to my car,<br />
always wanting more, but I feel you hold back<br />
"What?" I ask.<br />
"I don't really know the neighborhood."<br />
I'm boorish, I realize, and pushy, frisky and grabby.<br />
<br />
Yes, I would have loved to go back inside. Take back my<br />
departing phrases and take off my hat.<br />
<br />
should've?<br />
I'm a greedy little bugger and maybe too much<br />
would have loved to<br />
make you stay up too lateSTWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-79859457930876479742012-06-25T14:59:00.001-04:002012-06-25T14:59:09.483-04:00Actively Forget<i>(this is an old one, written in the fall of 2011)</i> <br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
Specifically to actively forget, to move on, to keep going, just like I said I was. I never stopped.<br />
Don't do it, friends said. You'll get attached.<br />
Of course I'll get attached. I loves me some attachment, I do.<br />
Metered, please. Controlled, but oh! Not that much.<br />
<br />
Shopping for soulmates never works. I would that I could be silent with someone. It occurs to be this should be a prerequisite and perhaps an addition to my various online dating profiles. "Must be able to be still and watch." That's not it, either.<br />
<br />
The stop-start of conversation is different with different people. And indeed different at different times. So sweet when it seems to flow naturally, mutually.<br />
<br />
Ah mutuality! Where have you been? Why do you live so far away?<br />
<br />
No, nothing is perfect. Cracks and fissures emerge no matter how solid. I believe that. Which is why I relish in being able to watch myself, alone.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">I try to find LONG stretches of time.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Hang on long moments.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Always alone.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">There's something to that. This thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Alone.</span><br />
<br />
But then there's this compelling thing about <span style="font-style: italic;">some people</span>. What is that? What is that bell that gets rung in my head. It happens immediately, for the most part. Seriously. I know in five minutes if I'm going to fall for this one. Less. Two.<br />
<br />
What <span style="font-weight: bold;">is</span> that?<br />
<br />
Programming, let's say. And that's true for sure. Trying to resolve a relationship of the past. Trying to work past the point where we wondered "why can't I make this work?" And I wonder why. And how I can know so quickly. But I do, of this I am sure.<br />
<br />
Oh that bell, that sweet sweet bell. I don't hear it but I feel the vibration go all through my body. And then I can't help but stare. Talk. Open up. There you go. Were you looking for my heart? Right here, hon.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I know. Trying to win the attention of someone, that's my Achilles heel. I am relentlessly the six year old, doing a cannonball into the pool, picking out a tune on the piano, singing a Helen Reddy song by the slide tucked into the wading pool. It's good, I promise, and I mean earnestly. It's the best I've got and all I have and it's for you.<br />
<br />
(brakes screech)<br />
<br />
Right well, it used to go that far. Now I am relentlessly paranoid and guarded. Except for those internal gong moments, and then all bets are off. Pavlov's motherfucking bell, man.<br />
<br />
Somehow I know that the initial attention is temporary, and I decide somewhere that I will prove myself, once and for all.<br />
<br />
Yup.<br />
<br />
Secret unlocked. Sim sala bim! <br />
<br />
Now, out! All the madness and sadness and what the fuck are you CRYING about now? Huh? What you need, sister, is a good dose of Actively Forget. You need to open your eyes and look around. Never mind that Gong Sister you spied tonight. Keep it moving. Yes yesyes. <br />
<br />
Come on. To bed. Your ass has to be up in the morning.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-697908140923892152012-01-02T15:00:00.001-05:002012-01-02T15:02:30.228-05:00Must I Make a New Year's Blog Post? Yes? Fine. Jeez.All right, I've been thinking about it for a while now and here's what my new year's resolutions are for this year:<br /><br />-- be me, a little louder: I think it'll be okay. And the stuff that pops outta me is sometimes amazing. It's worth it to get to the good nuggets to deal with the flotsam that will also surely come<br /><br />-- push the Columbo effect: That is to say, long awkward silences followed by weird questions. This works for me in terms of time needed to think. Might mean blocking out voices until I know what I need to understand, and then probe for more. Also, it's a fine meme for me. Work it.<br /><br />-- get rumpled raincoat: It doesn't have to start rumpled, it'll get that way eventually naturally (re. the rest of your clothes) Also, get the stuff you need, dude, like socks and underwear. Handkerchiefs. Throw away the shit with holes. You make money: stop buying food and start buying clothes.<br /><br />-- keep up the fight against fat: A great segue from the last, but true. I will ALWAYS have to be vigilant if I want to be successful with food. I love food. And food loves me. But we need some serious boundaries in our relationship. Love yourself. Love your body. Take good care of yourself, as you would your own child -- Lord knows someone needs to, finally.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-72686202654196119532011-12-29T16:51:00.002-05:002011-12-29T17:15:24.041-05:00Top Ten Times You Said YesIt promises to a helluva year<br />And I will do what I can to do those things<br />That will make me a better man.<br /><br />I will stop talking about myself in gender-confusing ways<br />I'll eat only my prescribed 1200 calories a day and<br />waste away, mind first<br /><br />I'll speak more and write<br />Even more than that<br />We have to keep the ratio right<br /><br />I'll set aside my need for<br />snugly love and lean into<br />leather lashes, properly provided<br /><br />Pretend harder that I wouldn't be<br />Equally confused and undecided<br />Even if I had a picket fence & puppy<br /><br />I will make more effort to learn<br />the purpose and power, to yearn<br />for the rhyme. I'll own it.<br /><br />I will tear down the paper thin walls<br />that looked like steel for years<br /><br />I'll be consistent in my stanza<br />my phrase<br />my intent<br />my love<br /><br />My love will always be consistent<br />Consistently there, waiting, wondering<br />Wandering, hopeless like a child<br /><br />No.<br /><br />I'll stand as still as I need to and listen to the rush of wind. I will predict the acorn falling. I'll know what it's all for.<br /><br />I'll finally get over the failure of my mother, although I'll never forgive her. I'll describe her deeds in detail and publish them all over the cloud.<br /><br />I'll tell the story<br />of the mountain of me<br />and how I got to be<br />so<br />tall<br /><br />I'll own it<br />because I'm that strong.<br />I'll stand still<br />and let the children climb over me.<br /><br />I will laugh<br />my signature hearty chuckle<br />and it will shake the trees<br />And I'll say, "I called that one."<br /><br />And it won't matter at all.<br />And we'll smile all the same.<br /><br />The pain is part of it. This we know.<br />But look! Look.<br />There it is.<br />Found it.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-47268800065130496782011-08-29T18:22:00.001-04:002011-08-29T18:22:55.824-04:00Doctors<p>Okay, I admit it, it's true: I have a new found *thing* for doctors. Or maybe I'm simply just now identifying my predilection for the highly educated, highly motivated young woman doctor. They're so freaking cute!</p> <p>The ER doc defintely started this trend, though I've always had a crush on my GP. You could've knocked me over with a feather when I saw the vet this morning. Of course her giant wedding ring was a (fairly) clear indicator that I should just stand down, but I was already agog.</p> <p>I'm fairly certain that even the most socially inept individual can read my face. I am only mysterious at an Aspberger conference. So I'm certain the animal doc read me right away, leading to our mutual stammering-stuttering-blushing-fest as we talked fungus and ringworm and fleas. </p> <p>I try not to look like an idiot. It doesn't always work.</p> STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-25873005718196170622011-08-26T10:16:00.001-04:002011-08-26T10:16:19.910-04:00The Thing About The Blogging<p>I know, I know. I should be writing. Snippy snazzy bits of sentences and half-baked ideas go flying through my head all the time. Usually when I'm driving.</p> <p>For weeks I've been promisng myself to reconnect to Blogger via email so I could just whip out my smart phone and be pithy on the spot. Or, you know, pull over.</p> <p>Some of my favorite bloggers have been really quiet for too long, also. And I'd like to harass them about writing more, but really couldn't with my own poor showing.</p> <p>So let's get back to it, shall we? The world needs our snark and sarcasm. It's a dimmer place without excessive alliteration and our unique perspective. Not everybody can live upside-down, or inside-out, or... whatever the hell I'm doing.</p> <p>Oo-rah!</p> STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-45118362567754289122011-07-25T00:49:00.005-04:002011-07-25T01:48:00.438-04:00Standing Silent, Even While It StingsI recognize the need to keep a stiff upper lip. It's part play-acting, for others' sake and for your own. If you say it enough times, you believe it. "I'm fine. No worries." I am not so big on play-acting, though it has its place. Generally though I'm more of an emotional billboard, announcing broadly exactly what I feel.<br /><br />Not sure which way to go right now.<br /><br />I'll tell you honestly that I feel a strange kind of sad. It's strange because there's a stiff-upper-lip built into it, and I don't know why.<br /><br />Maybe the crash started when I was coming down off the multi-day high of sexual tension building over e-media: photos and words exchanged, the former stolen and reblogged, the latter crafted by me. If crescendo doesn't mean crashing, it should.<br /><br />This Saturday was full of wicked news: The untimely death of Amy Winehouse, crooner extraordinaire and a real hot mess. The massacre in Norway, by a man claiming to be a Christian, fighting for Israel. And the unrelenting heat wave, which wasn't really news, but continued to punish us across the country.<br /><br />I feel guilt about Amy Winehouse -- probably not entirely because I feel that I should've done something more -- but more because her death is an echo of a work friend who died late last fall, also found dead in her bed, also who struggled with alcohol and a hard, complicated life. I didn't help her either, but rather kept her an arm's length away, not wanting the dark cloud of her defeating life to touch mine. I feel guilt about that, guilt that I didn't reach out, care more, fix more.<br /><br />I am bitter about my inner desire to fix and heal. I see it as an illness that looks like graciousness but is probably rooted in something deeper, sicker, and certainly less desirable. I have already promised myself and announced that I am not going to be anybody's white knight anymore. Any potential partner will come with the ability to solve her own shit, and a job of her own.<br /><br />I'm distressed about the Norway shooter, who claims to have done his destruction because he wants to support Israel. Whack-job militaristic nut bags defending Israel was NOT in my wishlist for peace in the Middle East. I'm left to wonder when the cycle of attack/defend from the other children of Abraham will simmer down enough to have a family reunion. Must we lump all Christians together? Must we lump all Muslims together? God knows the Jews themselves don't want to be indistinguishable from each other, even while we grudgingly defend our own whack-job counterparts' right to exist. Exist yes, legislate no. I fear the total demise of pluralistic religion in Israel, as the "right way" to be Jewish narrows.<br /><br />My friends are largely saner than I. They explain to me the realistic expectations that I should have: I can't have done a thing for Amy Winehouse. There will probably never be peace in the Middle East. My friends think it's sweet that I want to save the world, but they're a fairly logical bunch, geeks and scientists and such. I would rather live near them, though, to counterbalance my own lofty dreams and excessive emotion. Someone needs to give me the high water mark, so I know when I'm flying and need to come down.<br /><br />So. I saw the flag. The those-are-your-emotions flag and the data that accompanies it. I suppose that's where I know I need to buck it up, and keep going. Me and my long face did laundry and cleared off the mountain of crap on my coffee table. I did not cry, as I often do when I am overwhelmed with the sad emotion of the composite of humanity. It is not a happy story, even when you sample the greatness of some, the compassion of many. No. Overwhelmingly it is a story that makes you shout "not fair!" and occasionally "why me?" out loud. I feel the lows, and I am sometimes unwilling if not unable to drag myself out of bed and to work. I don't take a pill for it... yet. I am mostly healthy, even though my knees scream at me during and after a workout. According to doctors I am slowly dying from fatness. Even still I struggle with not consuming my grief through calories. I seek other solutions, other ways to relieve my soul. I workout like a maniac, every day I can, turning myself into an addict for adrenaline & pushing myself beyond my comfort zone.<br /><br />Who am I to want to mend souls, with my own a patchwork in tatters? I don't know. But I know when others hurt, I hurt. Empathy is hardly a strength, when it buckles my own knees. My brain searches for a solution. It is an equation, after all. There must be a way to solve it. And then I think: there is a way, through loss, through pain and tragedy. I know, I sound melodramatic. But the point is: that *has* to be there. Has to be. Not just because we need an opposite for happiness and triumph. The negative is the chisel to the positive marble, cutting away the excess, showing us the form inside the block. It belongs. It is part of the process.<br /><br />So. No crying, unless it's one of those stoic single tears tracing the curve of my cheek. Chin up, and stand tall. No one is going to save you but you. No one can do what you want, but you. Dust off your boots and tighten the tourniquet. Keep walking, cowboy.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-69805347947097119532011-05-18T23:52:00.004-04:002011-05-19T00:53:39.631-04:00SmellsI can still smell her on me. We hugged, three times. Once in greeting, twice in departing. My wife, whom I haven't lived with since 2006. 2001 - 2006. We married in 2003 in Canada, Niagara-on-the-Lake, just weeks after Ontario passed a law making it possible for us to legally marry.<br /><br />Her perfume is familiar, although I couldn't tell you the name of it. It goes nicely with my Old Spice. I would have you believe that she knows that.<br /><br />We share a lot of common desires: good food, silverware that is both elegant and heavy in your hand, expensive glasses frames (although she got laser surgery), good food. She wanted to take me to dinner for my birthday, which was Monday. We went to a Japanese restaurant well known for their skewers. Their sushi was exquisite. I knew it would be. My wife don't play. Not when it comes to food.<br /><br />With her I learned to appreciate fine things. I learned about blending two tastes together, two scents together, to make something completely amazing. With her I learned how to be quick and nimble, not physically, but financially and socially. I called her Rocketgirl. She was a true lion, a Leo all the way. I fancied myself a lion tamer, specially qualified to understand, moderate, and love.<br /><br />I do still love. The rest, I know is folly. I love because... because I do. She has an apartment in my heart, next to some other important suites and residences.<br /><br />Still, I worry, am wary. For all the fabulousness there were pitfalls, things I wouldn't describe in detail here. Enough, I would say, to give reason to the split. Faults were many, on both sides. I know so much more now. Who can say what could've happened otherwise.<br /><br />So I sipped sake and listened, interjected occassionally a story, or simply exclaimed about the food. It is really good. We let the chef feed us whatever. I opted to set aside my half-assed kosher following and eat the funky fish and shellfish. I tasted the porkbelly, the first ever in my life. It was divine. The sake she ordered was light and bubbly and cold. I started the evening with chilled vodka straight up, so I was good and ready for this very drinkable sake.<br /><br />She gave me a gift: a soft leather bound journal with unlined pages. And a card that said, mostly, "sorry."<br /><br />So close. So soft. Known, with memories sown into the corners. Smells so good. But I don't lean in. I don't. I don't flirt, but I am looking, watching her eyes. Remembering. And then thinking about what is real, now. Words are one thing. Action something else. Will I even give enough room to move? I am fixed, for now. Time, says the 42-year-old part of my brain, is the key. That gives a pattern to movement, movement to intentions.<br /><br />No. Part of me will still get lost. Gets lost between vodka and black sesame ice cream. That is enough for now. Back to me.<br /><br />I hailed her a cab.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-27761056791236739192011-04-29T15:16:00.004-04:002011-04-29T15:35:05.736-04:00Parasha Kedoshim Lev 19:1 – 20:27This week’s parsha is Kedoshim, a meaty portion, especially compared to some of the other parshiot in Leviticus. No longer talking about scaly while affliction, this portion revisits some of the most important rules and laws: honoring your father and mother, not worshiping other gods, observing the Sabbath, not stealing. Several but not all of the Ten Commandments are reiterated. We also hear again about other laws that have been described elsewhere: don’t gossip, don’t stand by while your friend bleeds, don’t sleep with your aunt or your daughter-in-law or your step-mother, don’t try to mate with animals, and don’t practice divination (in this particular way).<br /><br />But then we get a whole new slew of rules that are mentioned first (and maybe only) here: don’t cheat (you must use correct measures and weights), don’t lead others astray or injure or manipulate them (stumbling block before a blind man), don’t curse someone who cannot hear you, don’t gather the corners of your field – leave them for the poor, when you hire a worker you must pay them right away, don’t play favorites but instead be just and righteous.<br />These laws, I would contend, should be the foundation of our civil society. These laws are what separate those who are nice from those who are mean, basically.<br /><br />There are all kinds of people in the world, we know this already. There are some who are less socially apt than others, sometimes it’s just introversion, sometimes it’s a question of mental faculty. People who have autism, even high on the functioning spectrum, can miss out on social cues, body language, even facial expressions or vocal tones. These laws protect these types of people from others who would prey on them. These laws – were we to actually follow them – would indeed set us apart, establish us as a light to the nations.<br /><br />There are other rules within this portion that aren’t so clear, their meaning may be symbolic more than plain. A great example of this is 19:19 which instructs us not to mix animal species through mating, not mixing seed as you sow your field, and not wearing garments of mixed fibers. Our ancestors seem obsessed with keeping everything straight, perfectly aligned and in its own place. Of course earlier in the Torah we know that the priests themselves wore garments of wool and linen.<br /><br />Also in this portion is the law concerning rounding off the edge of your scalp and the edge of your beard. This is the law that Orthodox follow when they grow payis and allow their beards to flourish. Next to this verse is the one that prohibits tattoos. Both of these laws, it has been suggested, are to separate Israel from the other communities who did have tattoos, and shaved their heads so that just the crown of the head was covered in hair.<br /><br />Separation from others has long been a trademark of the Jewish sensibility. Many of our customs are designed to do just that. I experience this often first hand when I dine out with my friends – whether they are Jewish or not – and decline the pork products. I get a certain amount of razzing, as my friends test my dedication to this concept. They tell me there are refrigerators now and the pork is safe to eat. Many believe the original purpose for the law was sanitation and health. It probably did help, as did the commandments to wash our hands before we eat. But I don’t follow that rule because it’s better for my health. I follow the rule because I can. It seems like such a small thing, in the context of all the 613 mitzvot we are given, and one I can follow on faith. I have no logic (besides the health concept) to go on, really. What I do know is it does set me apart. At a table full of folks sharing pizza, I’m the one who has the veggie pizza.<br /><br />I often don’t understand the deep meaning of the Torah. And there are parts of this portion that I still don’t get. Why it is that blended fibers make me less holy, I don’t know. I can’t logically accept every word of this holy book, but I honor its legacy. I believe there are parts here that are essential to humanity and those ideas are themselves holy: Take care of the stranger in our midst, for you too were strangers once, and you should know what it feels like. Care for the sick, the feeble and the elderly and treat them with respect. 19:32 You shall rise in the presence of an old person and you shall honor the presence of an elder.<br /><br />This is the grand meaning of this parasha: we are to be set apart, to be holy, like Adonai our God, who is holy. Kedoshim – the holy ones, related to the word kadosh. In this way we are different, we are special, and we have a responsibility to be that light, to lead by example. May this be God’s will.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-61546856501674870432011-04-22T21:44:00.003-04:002011-04-22T22:40:19.023-04:00There's nothing funny about my colon.I had a lovely experience getting my colonoscopy. Really! I'm totally serious.<br /><br />Even the prep work -- as the phrase goes -- wasn't as bad as it could've been. Sure, it's kind of sick to expect someone to take fourteen doses of stool softener in two hours. The relationship I've had with Gatorade has changed, if only because I dissolved it all in a 64 oz bottle and downed it.<br /><br />It was also odd that I wasn't really hungry after fasting all day. Or maybe the pain in my gut is just normal now. So the next morning, again, I wasn't crazy hungry. (If only Yom Kippur were so easy.) I drove down to Georgetown in early morning traffic. Parked in the garage. Someone in the hospital corridor asked me if I needed help finding my way. It was all very civilized. The only people with their heads up their asses were the ladies at the check-in desk.<br /><br />There was a nurse to ask me questions and get the IV started, and a different nurse for the procedure. At one point I had one on either side of me as Nurse 1 was looking for a vein. Nurse 2, establishing some rapport, says "Did you forget to bring your veins?" I answered "I brought my asshole. I thought that was all you needed."<br /><br />"What?" she asked. I was either too funny or too rude. I repeated it. She repeated it to the anesthesiologist when we got into the other room.<br /><br />I was chatty. I was nervous. Really getting the IV started was the worst. The actual doc came in and was kind and patient and informative. She drew diagrams. I got oxygen. I got hooked up to some stereo equipment. I got an automatic BP cuff. And then the milky white stuff started crawling up the tube. "You might hear ringing or have a metallic taste in your mouth." After about five seconds I said "Oh there's the ringing in the ears." Two seconds later I was out.<br /><br />Two hours later I was listening to the old guy in the stall next to me hit on the nurses. I was groggy and high as hell. The nurse who came to check on me when I made a noise was East Indian in heritage but a local native. This was her 2nd career, after being a software developer project manager. I was chatty, and high. And happy.<br /><br />I was chilling in the chill-out area for a while, eavesdropping and watching the nurses and doctors mill about. A young woman doc came back to talk to an older woman who insisted she see the senior doctor. I watched as the young woman doc brought the older man doctor back, and how she kept her mouth shut and her eyes up while he said the same things she already had. The nurses offered me more juice and saltines. Andy came to get me.<br /><br />The Emperor was stoked to drive my stick shift car. We wove through streets, talking about lunch. Yes lunch. I wasn't sure if that was hunger or not but I was interested in this thing called food. We stopped at Rockland's and I got brisket and beans -- great choice for the first thing on my newly polished colon. Still, it was delish.<br /><br />So... the news is: whatever I've got, it's not there. Stay tuned for more exciting adventures in my innards.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-67500543481863823042011-03-20T21:11:00.005-04:002011-03-20T22:24:37.081-04:00EightI'm trying to be prepared, for once. Taking the time on Sunday night to sit still and THINK. (Insert Pooh Bear clip, with eyebrows knitting and a paw tapping the side of his head. Think. Think Think.)<br /><br />On the eighth day, Moses said, bring a bunch of livestock, 'cause you're gonna see God. And the people were all like, "what?" And they brought the animals, exactly as prescribed. And Aaron lit it all up, like he was supposed to, but God still didn't show up. And then Moses and Aaron were like, "fuck!" and they both went inside the tent and had a little tête-á-tête with God. And then God was like, "Okay, jeez, you made this whole big tent thing for me and all the dolphins skins and shit. Fine. I'll come down." And the people totally freaked out and fell on their faces.<br /><br />Then we get some strict lessons: don't enter the Mishkan while drunk; don't eat the shrimp or the pork, or camels or alligators, or centipedes (knock yourself out with the grasshoppers though!); and, uh, don't touch the ark. Yeah. You'll die.<br /><br />All these RULES. Dude, you're killing me with the details and the rules. Can't we just stick to the good stuff, like don't kill your neighbor, and hang on to his ox if you see it wandering around? Don't put a stumbling block in front of a blind man, 'cause that's just fucking evil. No, you've gotta remind me again about the Red Heifer and how we'll never be pure again, really until we find one and turn it into ash. Dude. C'mon. Weren't the Israelites enough of a hard sell after You had your way with the Egyptians?<br /><br />And yet there's this outlandish leap of faith we're supposed to take. For them it's putting their lives in the hands of a God who seems a little fickle and weird, with crazy instructions and details that are so convoluted even Aaron and Moses have to have a moment to figure out if something was wrong (who ate the sin offering and where?). For us now, it's just about <span style="font-style: italic;">believing</span>. That's the leap of faith.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />For me, it's about <span style="font-style: italic;">trusting</span>.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-82434548398468039082011-03-04T13:31:00.002-05:002011-03-04T13:46:22.541-05:00TurningI am all fur and feathers<br />standing guard and pacing<br />Bear with wings and spear<br /><br />Few are good enough for you<br />And me, I know this<br />Sorting through humanity is an onerous task<br /><br />Keeping one eye skewed<br />squinting watching<br /><br />of course your flower should blossom<br />your house warm to homeness<br /><br />I, skeptical and untrusting,<br />leave the gate open<br />but refuse to abandon my postSTWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6298537394864316444.post-22072913894103629742011-02-23T09:50:00.002-05:002011-02-23T09:55:14.159-05:00Shel 3, Love 0Yes, I am winning, in the battle, the game against Love. Love, that flighty bitch, has pinned me down for the last time. I am fairly certain that I will win overall and NOT be burdened with that hormone-laden crazy-time known as losing myself in another's eyes. No, I won't.<br /><br />I will WISH, hard and in secret, for a touch, tender and full of emotion. But in the blazing light of day I will know, in the bottoms of my feet, that I cannot wait for this thing, this romance, this fake fucker to come around and give me that dream. Crazy stupid dream of what? Someone to fawn over me and gush? Someone to pull on me and lean, needing me for every breath?<br /><br />No no no. I can poke holes in anything. Just watch. I can be bitter, doubtful and most of all, alone. I will send out tendrils to scout out the landscape. But I will stay here, where I am me first of all, whatever that may mean.STWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07222407998377846983noreply@blogger.com0