--I NEED A SMALL DARK CLOSET WHERE I CAN HUDDLE 


...This is all we ever talk about.

...Just off the center of the center is where most of the precious things are hiding.  Right...about....there.

...It's just that everything feels like it's on the periphery.

...That crocodile's looking at you, baby.  That crocodile is thinking: mmmm.

...One thing is not like the other--so simple, so trite, so true.

...It happens like this, the start that gets too much attention.

..."Fuck you, leave me alone."  This is how fear can sometimes sound.  Or it can be love turned inside out.

...For reasons still unknown, I have the world's ugliest toes.  I do.  Have I confessed this before?  Mine are hideous.  If you were to see them, they might make you gag.  When you are just the least bit of a runner, it's inevitable that your toenails will, at some point, swell up like mini rhinos.  The old and new and bruised blood gets pinched under the nails so that, after some time, they resemble a jagged set tortoise shell teeth.  I suppose a good pedicure is in order, but I'm ticklish there.

...We've talked about this before but your attention may have been elsewhere at the time.

...What makes people good communicators is, in essence, an ability not to be fazed by the more problematic or offbeat aspects of one's own character.

...Were I less afraid of my own mind, I might be able to square up to myself.  I can be a little tricky to be around, after all.

...Things would be better for everyone involved if we all just gave each other the benefit of the doubt instead of rushing to the worst conclusions possible.

...We don't need to be perfectly reasonable in order to have a good relationship, just the occasional capacity to acknowledge that we may, in one or two areas, be somewhat crazy.

...A lack of respect is one of the greatest slights ever--a long blade thrust hard, and deep, with abandon.

...The world disappoints, frustrates and hurts us in countless ways, at every turn.  And almost invariably we can't complain about any of it.  It's too difficult to tease out who may really be at fault, and after all, playing the blame game never solved anything.

...It is, of course, the height of absurdity to rewrite history, to create alternative facts in order to make our position look or feel better.

...Being scared almost always means you care.  And getting pissed--on occasion, for the right reasons, isn't so wrong--it means you give a shit. 

...It was different growing up.  We were poor.  We didn't feel we had anything to lose.  Humility and shame were the cousins I knew best.  Selling produce from our backyard outside of the hardware store, shouting out, "Cucumbers!  Cucumbers!  Ten cents each!" while kids from school strode by snickering--it wasn't even a thing that stuck to you more than a minute or two.

...When someone says, "So what the fuck did you think of that?" you pay attention and answer slowly.

...To love is to enter into the inevitability of one day not being able to protect what is most valuable to you.

...As usual, disasters attract the most attention. 

...It takes a certain strength to cry, more so than cauterizing your wounds.

...It's late and dark and windy and a bug or small bird or stone just slammed into the window in front of me.  At this hour, that can scare the shit out of a person.

....It's no prize if you win and the ticket isn't validated.  An unvalidated ticket--let me tell you, that is no fun.

...This is all it comes down to--we're staring at the same moon, or we will stare at it at some point, maybe even at the exact same time, and we will think similar thoughts, and we will let down our guard and be honest and vulnerable, because, after all, it's the moon we're talking about, and as everyone knows the moon is one of the best, most reliable friends ever.  She's a great secret keeper, if that's what you need.  She has HUGE ears and she's patient if you tend to be long-winded in your story-telling or confessions.  I'm telling you, the moon is something else.  She's always there when you need her.  Especially when the grubby night will not let you sleep.

--YOU ARE IMPORTANT.  YOU DESERVE TO FEEL GOOD.  THE UNIVERSE IS ON YOUR SIDE


...But what do you want?

...And soon the clover will yellow and burn and scar beneath an unaware sun who cannot comprehend she's menacing and not mortal, but also not indifferent to the universe's charms and qualms--this is a poem I just started this morning.

...I tend to get a little extreme in my enthusiasm.  At least I think I do.

...Songs sometimes are uncannily appropriate to the situation at hand.

...I'm not insensitive to out-and-out denials even though I'd be sorry to lose your friendship.

...Sulking.  At the heart of the sulk lies a confusing mix of intense anger and an intense desire not to communicate what one is angry about.  The sulker both desperately needs the other person to understand and yet remain utterly committed to doing nothing to help.  And yet it is a privilege to be the recipient of a sulk; it means the other person respects and trusts us enough to think we should understand their unspoken heart.  It is one of the older gifts of love.

...I seem to be getting more philosophical these days.

...Massage is the best way to distract yourself.  Deep tissue massage.  I imagine that's what heaven must be like.

...One thing I'm learning is not to expect too much from people.

...Of course, I still make a lot of mistakes, but I'm learning.

...My head's underwater, but I'm doing fine.  I realize that no matter where I am it's always the same.

...I seem to have this knack for making things complicated for myself.  Do I make you feel like things are messy and uncomfortable between us?  How awful.

...I guess we can't escape being a product of the times, can we?

...Some days feel the same as the ones that immediately preceded them.  It's like watching yourself in the same film but with a different sound track each time you watch it.  I don't know if you have ever felt like this.

...I told you I was becoming more philosophical lately.

...If your life is not too turbulent, it's good to take a moment to feel grateful.  Even if it is a little shaky, there's never a bad time to tell someone you love them and maybe even why,

...Nothing i think is in future tense.

...Out here, you have to take the good with the bad.  Out here, everyone is just passing through.

...In the end, it doesn't even matter.

...I'm becoming aware of just how lost inside my life you are.

...Please adjust my dreams for me.  Something nasty just flew into my eye.

--I HAVE BEEN AT TIMES SO HAPPY AS TO NOT KNOW WHAT THE WEATHER WAS


...The whole world has problems--and I?  How am I going to stand this place?  What else is there?

...In the movie version the camera is panning to a gorgeous sunset and the music is rich and deep and tender.

...The things that never come back are several.

...I am trying to be less obvious, thinner, nearly invisible. The sun's rays run right through me.  The rain can only hit the ground.

...Who doesn't blame the weather when the weather takes over?

...I'm sorry, but there are some things you just can't take back.

...Who knew how quickly trees humiliate our losses?

...When I was a kid, some summers we'd go to the small town of Yakima for vacation.  My parents would have a room in the Holiday Inn and we kids would have the camper in the parking lot, but we had access to the hotel pool.  That's where I learned to swim when may brothers flung me in the water and said, "Good luck!"  Other than that, they weren't around much, but a lot of stuff happened at that pool for me.  Oh boy.

...I read the news today, oh boy.

...And some species kill the ones they favor, the ones they actually love, because that is all they know how to do in the end.

...Poetry can be what speaks to another silence.  Two silences quarreling over nothing.

...At a certain day, at a certain age, you identify with everyone.

...Which is it, in the end, the thing we love?  The picture of it, or the thing itself?

...I am listening and thinking of the distances, wandering in all directions, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.

...Those clouds above us?  What a beautiful roof.

...Staring straight back at us, the pictures never lie.

...It can take a lifetime to hear, to see a thing.

...No, that's too easy.

...Some people are so smart they can find that point that divides the wind.

...Someone's always left behind, married to the same old address.

...I was dead, too, but didn't quite know it yet.

...And sometimes you can't help but think:  Wait a minute, what??

--GOD IS SUCH A SHOW OFF


...Which is to say, we're in store for good things if we can let them find us, if we are willing to work hard enough to find them ourselves.

...People can make themselves believe anything.  I get it.  You get desperate enough and what other choice is there?

...Is there anything worse than fool's gold?

....You can't really tell the sun what to do.  It ain't listening.  It's got a mind of its own.

...What a wicked thing to do, to make me think of you.

....In terms of being out of the pool, I am smack dab in the middle where the drain gurgles six feet below.

...It's pretty difficult to outrun the rain.  I've tried it plenty of times and all I got was soaked.

...I've been scraping a dead body out of this place every day.

...All that unused ink is really piling up.

....You think you know someone, but do you really?  Now there's a question for the ages.

...Sometimes we face an impossible loss and spend our nights studying the moon.

....Maybe it would help if we could just take forever one minute at a time.

....One of the worst things is having people in your life who don't believe in you.  Worse yet is if they don't even believe you in the first place. 

...Resentments make even the best of us feel superior.

...They say elephants can recognize the bones of a dead loved one when they stumble upon them in the wild.  They will stop and wander among the huge, decaying bones, swinging their tusks, braying in despair.

....It feels different to mourn something without naming its name.  

...You know, for a world that demands direction, I certainly have none.

...Really, I don't know how smart I am, and that, above all else, keeps me working, and working hard.

...I know I can be as confused as anybody else.  

...All the best myths have been juggled about, so it's often hard to know what is what, and to still keep on believing in them.

...The heart and the skin are soft--they take what is done to them.

...I can become a very tragic figure in my own mind if I don't make the effort to be happier than I might otherwise be. 

...Treating things lightly is indeed the answer to much.

...Listen hard enough and you can feel the rhythm of ache.

...And still my thoughts go on with the never-ending pace, with an urgency that knows not why.

...The thing to understand is, the world is ours, but we walk in it unnoticed.

....The imaginary is what becomes real, and when it does, there's not enough paint to paint it black.

...Down with people, damn it.

...Now I am a confused and wondering individual.

...Those joys, sorrows and upsets help you find yourself, help you build real value in your life.

....This is my little diary of ups and downs, of reaching and falling, of soaring and crashing and burning.

  

--THERE’S A FINE LINE BETWEEN MEAN AND OUTRIGHT CRUELTY

…Who am I to judge?  What’s been gained?  Lost?  Loved?  Hated?  What do you really think?  How do you explain yourself?  What right have we to happiness?

…It’s funny how someone can say “Thank you” one minute, then “Fuck you,” the next.  Actually, it’s not funny at all.

…I only feel bewilderment.

…That scar is really going to leave a mark.

…It does or doesn’t matter, depending upon how you gauge its history.

…If it makes you feel better, I can be the monster.

…I think you’re better at putting things away than I am.   Actually, I know you are.

…It’s interesting how sixty minutes is different depending on what you’re doing with it.  For instance, sixty minutes with someone you enjoy, with someone you’re at ease with, is really like five minutes, tops.  For instance, sixty minutes with your therapist--where it’s just you and him, the walls and the brooding silence—it’s a week and a half, at a minimum.

…Sometimes I feel like I am on the verge of a fever.  I guess that’s just me being a victim again.

…I often lack the mental capacity to properly describe how unlikely and altogether unbelievable things are.

…Depression isn’t exactly something you seek out.  Instead, it finds you with its long claws, its snug grip that holds on for dear life not knowing why.

…Maybe the problem is we’re too good at Goodbyes.

…My good friend, Cabernet, has a lot of insightful advice.  I wish I could remember it all.

…Everyone is replaceable if they’re hurting the film.

…The first novel I ever wrote, I wrote on one of the very first PC’s.  This was around 1990.   I didn’t know how to work it that well, the computer that is.  When I was finished, I punched the wrong button and the whole thing erased.  I mean THE ENTIRE BOOK disappeared.  I remember almost throwing up at dinner.  But then I wrote it a second time.  It was still a pretty shitty novel, yet it was a better book the second time around.  There are some learnings to be had there.

…You only get to not know what you’re doing once, because you’ll never be so brave again, because you won’t know what to be scared of the next time around.

…Nothing in the poem I wrote earlier today really happened in my life, but it all rhymed with the truth.

…At the hour while I’m writing this—not when I’ve posted it, not when you’re reading it—the whole world’s asleep, and each breath it takes and exhales shuffles back into my ear like the voice of a sea shell trying to tell me its darkest secret.  It’s kind of comforting and also a little frightening.

…Time has its way with everyone.

…Sometimes it’s like you’re running a marathon alone before someone else comes in.  But, still, the person who has to push it forward at every step is you.

…The one question I like to ask people is, “What do you wish you’d known?”

…Life is usually a lesson I have to re-learn over and over in the editing room.

…A little bit of want is okay, but too much of it smacks of treading the water.

…You can be all over the map and still not know where you’re going.

…“You can read all of the writing craft books in the world, you can bathe yourself in writing tips, but in the end, there’s only one way to become a better writer:  Sit down and write.  Write often.  Write thousands of words, and then write thousands more.” --Substitute writing, write and writer, for your passion, and this is pretty much true for everyone.  In a way, it’s a panacea. 

…Conundrum—that’s a baby’s name we haven’t seen yet.

…I feel inexplicably bereaved.

…Sometimes there’s a fence between one moment and the next.

…I don’t smile like this in real life.

…I’m mostly made up of books and stories which is why people have a hard time taking me seriously.

…The things I’m most serious about are usually the ones I screw up.  Maybe there’s a name for that.

…Making comparisons is typically not very healthy.

…It counts.  It all counts.

...You can concoct all the stories you want, believe any falsehood your mind creates.  Go ahead and make some more things up.  That's just another way of showing your true colors.  That's just showing how full of shit you really are.

…So promise me you’ll never forget that you aren’t an accident.  You’re a gift to the world.   

--THE TREES ARE SO HUGE THAT THEY SHUT YOU UP

This Is My Depression Talking

I am having an

inkblot moment again,

that sloshing-swimming black

with not enough white,

not enough light,

the jerking-jolting weight

of the world making me seasick,

on the verge of vomiting,

the very act a vanity itself,

so right there that’s another reason

for repulsion and self-loathing.

Let’s face it, not everyone can

skip through rain puddles with wonder

hanging off their toddler face. 

Not everyone can smile

for the camera on request. 

Some of us have to

suck on barnacles for sustenance,

make love to husky poison ivy,

untangle monkeys from our hair

using rusted tweezers.

In these inkblot moments,

I am here and somewhere

else at the same time,

transmuted maybe,

but more transported,

aborted actually,

and life gets slick,

it does,

slippery, coppery,

like a bloody nose in summer,

but violent too, like a slap

out of nowhere, or eating

random bolts of lightning,

falling in a sink hole with its

garbage disposal teeth

working overtime,

grinding away until I’m

just pulp and mush.

I don’t expect you to understand. 

After all, this is

my depression talking,

taking charge, taking over,

an invading Hun with a hatchet,

a band of marauders more

hedonistic and perverse than

Caligula ever was.  

So sometimes, to self-preserve, I set myself

at Monet’s pond, figuratively of course.

(I’m depressed, not nuts.)

I make myself into colors,

soft and blurred ones.

Impressionism. 

Depressionism.

I look from pad to pad,

from moss green leaf to

butter yellow leaf.

to taupe and mauve leaf,

every slurry leaf. 

I think to myself, if I can

actually see the colors,

there is still hope,

there might possibly be hope.

I close my eyes and hold on

to whatever is closest,

and if there is nothing to grip,

I pretend there is,
squeezing tight as I can.

...Hey, look at that--it's 2018.  Who knew we'd make it this far?
Hopefully your head isn't still hurting.

...My PC crashed the other day, so I got a new one.  A Mac.  It doesn't like me very much, even though we've just met and are only now getting to know each other.  For instance, it wouldn't detect the new keyboard or mouse I got.  For instance, it won't let me pull up a photo for this post.  (A blog post without a photo is like standing in line at Starbucks in your underwear.)  I hope our relationship gets better soon, or this is going to be a rocky courtship.  

...I've had a few good writing days of late, well, that is to say good days of writing bad, sad poetry, but I guess somebody's got to do it.




The Weight of Some Bones

My head is full of wrong ideas,
a bar without whiskey or beer,
a harp missing strings,
somebody's lost left shoe tossed
down an abandoned well.
The flimsy moon is wandering,
lost as well, somewhere between Bend
or Phoenix or forever.
The rocks might show mercy
but they're all busy weeping sand.
If there was music on this page
it would sound like (...)
If there was a smell to this ink
you'd assume someone died in a fire.
It's all about the beats now,
or the absence of beats,
those spaces hollow as a sparrow's bones,
light as a book of matches or tooth picks,
yet far too heavy for lift off.



When Misery Comes

When misery comes with her
lipsticked face and cracked glass teeth
don't look to the moon for help because 
she is worthless, a flattened good luck charm,
a broken promise you once believed in.
Put your hopes in something certain instead--
the scorched earth, the un-loseable 
grip of loss, death's hand waving you home.
Remind yourself that even Jesus wept.
Try to comprehend that if God can cry so openly
you can as well.



I Am My Own Thief

Unusual bleeding should warrant alarm and
yet some days there is never enough bloodletting to go around.
Some days the vultures peck maniacally just for sport, not even hungry,
the Jackson Pollock splatter needing another color besides crimson.
I'd be better off handcuffing myself to a windmill or runaway train
but instead all I do is stand at my own grave wondering what to steal.  



The Missing

The front of me is always 
on the dark side of the moon
looking two-faced and bloated
with the weight of atrocity.
The screams of missing children
ring out in the night and
what's worse is their mothers 
can hear them in their sleep.
Some of us are not meant 
to see the sun, even if we're human 
and not actually vampires.
Some of us spend our years
peering down into that deep, dark tunnel, 
looking, looking, shouting out
the name of our own missing.