thoughts and a prayer

it is no longer an isolated event
something that we are safe from
if we live in a small town
if we are in a house of worship
if we are middle-aged and live a quiet life
if we are young children obtaining an education

it is so commonplace that new cycles
don’t have a chance to complete
before another incident takes the place of the previous

we no longer know names
or circumstances
of victims
or purveyors of American carnage

(gods forbid that you should be traveling in coach:
non-white
non-Christian
non-cisgendered
non-hetero
non-rich
non-powerful)

a small but powerful minority
the greed visible in the whites of their eyes
holds a nation hostage
for the sake of filling their pockets
and cementing their egos

and our parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles
and cousins and friends and neighbors
and goddamnit our fucking children
have no chance to say goodbye
and still we do nothing


I am tired
tired of feeling sad
tired of feeling helpless
tired of feeling trapped with no recourse
tired of my anger overflowing and
pushing me closer to the low road

but I am also blessed
beyond words
beyond my ability to describe
far beyond what I would think I deserve
with a partner like her

a partner (a friend) who listens to me without judgment
or complaint
a partner (a friend) who I can be completely open and honest
and myself
even in the worst of my moments
a partner (a friend) who just by being who she is
can make me forget the tumult and negativity
put me in the eye of the hurricane of the world
if only for a moment
if only for days at a time

little things
like Post-It notes on the door that I don’t see for days
songs labelled with “(lyrics)”
distracting videos
of cats
of ridiculous humans
of roosters screaming in her backyard

and so this is a prayer of thanks
to her
to let her know how much she means
how much she is
to me
especially next to me in the darkness

no waiting to pray to a fantasy
not this day

a penthouse residence

imagine:
being gifted with words
and the ability to listen
no fear of asking for clarification
a desire to know
and to teach any who share the same

music theory
binary algebra
the psychology of criminals
and the virtuous
quantum mechanics
perhaps even hypotheses surrounding
unsolvable mysteries
magic
the truly unknown
expressions and verbalizations for any and all

and then imagine:
waking to find oneself
with another
one who is even easier to communicate with
that one with an innate
maybe supernatural
connection

two notes on the guitar that sing just so
puzzle pieces that click together without effort or search
the perfect word to complete a lyric
potassium chlorate and friction

thoughts travel without words
or newly invented terms
or misused
or mistranslated
or mangled
or made-up

but trying to tell the world
those close and distant
those near and far
to shout from the rooftops
to send out email newsletters
or family correspondence
‘zines
mimeographed pictograms
smoke signals

all media fall short
systems and processes fail

the most important thing
for me to share
how wonderful the universe is
with you in my heart

that message is trapped with us
in our penthouse residence
atop a modern-age Tower of Babel

as long as you hear my declaration
there’s nowhere I’d be happier to reside

a symphony for two instruments

a solitary beam of light
a bridge from heaven to earth
Bifröst
connecting the ears of gods
to the seemingly empty stage

silence builds
and is broken
gently
a lonely and haunting melody
swelling, ebbing, cresting, falling
sweet bowed strings
or perhaps a tender reed

minutes pass
perhaps months
and the tune morphs seamlessly
building upon itself
looping back
echoing
changing
all while retaining the theme

and then

a second voice is present
weaving in and out
providing counterpart
harmonizing
creating tension
providing resolution
as though the second voice had been present
all along

both instruments distinct
yet indistinguishable within the moment
individual
moving on their own
in unison with the other

the listener allows themselves
to float
to be absorbed
to be carried along
passed back and forth
handed between the tones
like a newborn
like the rarest of flowers
softly, lightly, gingerly

and as the tide carries them
the duet has become an orchestra
countless tones and chords
singular authors unable to be particulated
a pillow of song
large enough to comfort an entire hall

the sum of two instruments
so much greater than the pieces
when played with the rarest of connections
of understanding
of hearts forged from the same starstuff

the persistence of time

“Your friends will know you better in the first minute you meet than your acquaintances will know you in a thousand years.”
‒ Richard Bach.

Random but connected (at least in my head) thoughts:

There’s something odd about being an introvert — that weird paradox in which most people are exhausting after a short conversation, but occasionally you find that rare bird that you can spend infinite amounts of time with and never notice that days or weeks have passed.

Connection is incredibly odd and seemingly difficult for someone like me, but the converse side of that is that it’s immediately recognizable when it manifests.

Some connections are strong enough to overcome seemingly anything, even if those connections change their definitions over the years.

One person’s moving too fast is another person’s letting nature take its course. And while I can see see the outside perspective, the only points-of-view that really matter are the internal. At least, if both parties are honest and self-examined.

Balance is the key to success. The proper mix of complimentary and challenging, common ground and exposure to new and different. And if I could define “proper mix”, I feel like I could make a living writing shitty self-help books. Maybe I should give that a shot anyway…

everything in it’s right place

There are reasons — some good, some bad, some utterly incomprehensible — why there are age and/or experience limits on a lot of things in life. You’re more likely able to appreciate the consequences of smoking that pack of cigarettes you just bought, or the potential perils of firing that gun that you own. Whatever industry or career you’ve chosen to spend time pursuing, experience makes you a more efficient and smarter performer. The more time you spend behind the wheel of a car, the more you learn to react to any situation quickly and smartly.

I’m not a believer in fate, or pre-destination. I think finding out that that idea was rooted in a universal truth would probably be the end of me — why bother and all, if it’s already written in stone? Not to mention that I see too much injustice and unfairness in the world to even begin to accept that narrative.

I do, however, subscribe quite strongly to the ideas of good and bad timing, of being in the right place at the right moment, of recognizing opportunity when it is presented. I think said recognition comes with age and experience.

I think also that the ability to take advantage properly of such opportunities is dependent on age and experience, as well. Had I been handed the chance to earn millions of dollars coming out of college, I would have likely screwed it up or (worse) become jaded and entitled. I simply wasn’t in the right mindset to handle such responsibility or such reward.

There’s a certain naivete that I carried through a lot of my young adulthood — likely a result of my (overly) romanticized view of life and it’s larger arcs. Things like jobs and property and creative pursuits and relationships were supposed to happen a certain way if you did x, y, and z — that’s the way it is in movies, and TV shows, and books. And when things didn’t happen how I expected (spoiler alert: pretty much all the time), it was a huge shock to the system. Disappointing, sure — of course it was. But also stunning, inexplicable.

Fortunately — and looking around, believe me when I say that I recognize my fortune here — I never expected answers to be spoon-fed, nor did I expect the same actions to generate new and different results. I questioned others about the perceived failures. I questioned myself. I had conversations — some easy, some incredibly painful and self-image puncturing, always educational — and did reading and thought and pondered and probably overthought and over-pondered and then finally learned. Sometimes in a burst of inspiration, sometimes so slowly that I didn’t recognize the lesson for years, but always — and I continue to do so — learning, so that the next opportunity wouldn’t fall prey to a mistake.

Or at least, not the same mistakes I had already tripped over. Always make new mistakes.

My first real relationship ended not only poorly, but in such a way (due to the particulars of my understanding of the world, and myself, and the way relationships are “supposed to work”) that I was left with little to no sense of identity. This, in many ways, was probably the best thing that ever happened to me, because it not only forced me to evaluate and rethink almost everything that is important to and about me, but also slapped me in the face with the realization that the world isn’t as simple as parts of me had always imagined (or at least hoped).

And so the years passed, and I made many, many more bad decisions and unforced errors and questionable (at best) calls. And I continued to examine the history, and the factors external and internal, and to glean what I could from mine and other perspectives — where I had chosen poorly or behaved inappropriately, where others had, where scenarios were simply untenable and how to better recognize them.

I realize that I am not perfect — or to avoid using that loaded term, not where I would like to be in terms of my insecurities, my abilities to react to and manage certain events, my presuppositions and presumptions and prejudices. I still have a ways to go with those things and more, and I spend at least a small chunk of every day working through those issues and trying to be more my own ideal. But I do have a much bigger toolbox, and a much more expansive guidebook, and enough experience that I can handle the smaller things without devoting any energy to them, conserving my efforts for the bigger, more difficult ones.

There’s this idea that certain endings are predestined — because all previous attempts at a given outcome ended a certain way. Beyond rejecting the idea of a predetermined outcome, I refuse this thought — perhaps as a result of my desire (need?) to believe in some part of my younger romanticized comic-book version of the world, no matter how small, but also because while my past is littered with examples of failure, those examples grow less bitter and painful with each passing year.

I have never been a physically graceful or gifted person. It took me ten years of playing soccer before I felt remotely comfortable on the field (never great, but passable). In 35 years, I’ve never become more than a slightly-better-than-average guitarist or pianist. To this day, learning new skills involving my body — dancing, playing drums, yoga — are embarrassing and horrifically frustrating for me, because apparently I sacrificed most of my physical IQ in favor of other attributes (and if anyone can help me figure out what those are, I’d appreciate it). But I wanted to play soccer, and so I kept trying to be better in different ways. I wanted to be able to play guitar, so I kept trying different practice styles and techniques. And one day, I stopped failing at both enough to be happy with the results.

If I had met Natalie a decade ago, I would not have been ready. Five years ago, one year ago (though that last one is technically incorrect, as we met about two years ago, IIRC) — the time (and my head) weren’t right. I had more to learn — about relationships, about myself, about the way I react and relate to others, about what I control and don’t. It’s not an age thing, but an experience thing.

And my experience tells me I’ve never felt more loved or cared for, nor happier or more whole, and capable of generating a different outcome than expected or predicted — one more in line with the better version of the world that I refuse to give up on. If there’s anything that is worth fighting for with everything I have and then some — well, like Vonnegut encourages: “And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.'”

sunsets, i have seen too many without you

It seems like it should be simple, to look. Just to look, to shift your eyes inside your head, aiming your gaze.

But then at some point the fear kicks in, an absolute gut-wrenching terror that comes from out of nowhere, no warning, no slow build that rises from your heart and courses through your arteries, following the path of the adrenaline swell. Your eyes come up from the ground and you think that maybe you’ve finally conquered it and you’re almost there and your knees go limp your gut a knotted mass of flesh and blood and bile your brain screaming and pulsing…

As a child, you stared at the sun, directly into the blazing inferno, only for a second but long enough to make out the body beneath the corona. Blue spots for weeks and even now you are haunted by the dreams of a world ablaze, your corneas melting and the beauty of the fire blurring through waxy vision; but that one moment was worth it, because you saw a truth, an underlying foundation of the universe that has left you questioning. In that moment of clarity, wheels turned and tumblers clicked and the key seemed a little closer to your young grasp.

And the wisdom that comes with age carries fear and hesitation with it. Never since have you dared another glance, because that would mean the chance of something bad, something horrible, something with embarassing questions and answers.

What if, at the exact moment of your death, you are granted the truth, the meaning behind life and living and the universe? You are presented with the underlying patterns and their meaning, the tapestry of the mysteries and an instant and utterly distinct understanding of it all. And perhaps this answer is the gift of death, the reward for accepting and letting go, releasing your spirit to whatever comes next.

And what if the answer to the ultimate mystery and death are inexorably intertwined? What if you can have the answers you want, but that’s it, the end, no more for you you been here too long time to go now?

What if looking at her face means the same thing? What if nothing ever seems the same, what if your eyes are burned beyond use, what if beauty loses all meaning? What if hope dies?

And you wish you could travel back in time, become a child again, only for five minutes, long enough to look into her eyes and see the truth.

where you’re at

I’m staring at your face
your beautiful green eyes
the smile that rarely disappears
the soft billowy dirty blonde hair
your freckled cheeks
your smile lines
your perfect lips that inspire a million kisses

an old picture
from across the country
across the years
that captured you at your best

I’m hearing you
snoring gently
a room away
post-coital nap
coiled so loosely
in my bed
on my pillows

your hawaiian tattoo
stark against your porcelain skin
so peaceful and relaxed
cat curled at your spine

(I love the suddenness of your curves
and the softness of your edges)

I want to share everything with you
I want to experience everything with you
I want to feel everything with you
I want to travel with you
discover new places and music
get drunk and gluttonous
learn to cook and to dance
laugh and be astounded and awe-struck

see the northern lights
be struck speechless by the grand canyon
experience the wonders of ancient cultures
hear our favorite music in foreign theatres

dream big or dream home
or dream of both at once
because you feel like both

I’m staring at your face
your beautiful sleeping eyes
a smile hidden for the moment
replaced with what I will imagine is contentment
soft billowy dirty blonde hair splayed across a pillow
your freckled cheeks aglow in the soft light
your smile lines at rest
your perfect lips that inspire a million kisses

and I am whole
soft keyboards shifting effortlessly
cello beds laying a foundation
an echo of effortless but impossible guitar lines

and I am whole
streaming poetry that saved my life
lyrics that speak my thoughts better than I could ever hope to
Palahniuk repetitions and King campfire storytelling

and I am whole
and I am whole
and I am whole

I hope some part of me
is always where you’re at