It was a strange moment i dont know that i’ll have again.
I felt complete magnanimity with the world
a white surge of “okay”
“youve done it
right.”
it was so
forceful and present as to require
a response but i wasn’t sure how
to speak it.
i also didn’t want it to
stop. so i continued on in conversation
with a pall over my head like a little
zion or maybe a rebalance
of the universe
after the asshole
earlier today
made fun of my
starbucks cup.
– mexico, 5/22
im eating food alone next to a crippled artist and two houses full of words that don't come cheap. the nights fallen to pieces and my heroes are outside kicking circles in the air. it's a New Year, someone says with a bad sweater and the look of an impatient intellectual. apparently, this is a good time to look back and raise some dead hands to life. i walk into a different room. nothing but the talk of absinthe, football, and meditations on awards squandered by alcoholic law students. i open the fridge. grab a beer. stare at the marilyn monroe magnet. everyone talks around me. i can't engage. i don't know how. i used to be able. where have all my social talents gone? I could command rooms. I could give speeches. I could wow coworkers. all i can think of is the book I'm reading now about che and the movie i watched today called lonesome jim. and the song i just listened to called else. these are the only three things i am really thinking about. and to know me is to know that all i am usually thinking about is what i just read or saw or listened too. i consider myself easily haunted as a result, by all of my experiences. i must stop with this talk or i'll lose you. don't worry, ive fought the asylum this long. i can fight it some more. but, you should know, I read this introduction today at powells on hawthorne by studs turkel from the book "This I Believe" I recommend it. especially where he says "all bets are off" my bets are off. im wandering back to the party. not feeling sorry for myself anymore. that's my goddamned Resolution. and I'm sticking to it. -new years eve, 2008 39th & Holgate
"Everything okay?" the proprietor shouts each morning with his friendly grin. "Always okay here!" I reply. Meeting his smile. Eating my eggs. He will spend the day sweeping the pristine walkways and porches. Usually whistling or singing while he does. In the afternoon heat he takes off his shirt, big brown belly hanging out. As he prunes the banana leaves. - gili islands, 1/19
homeless cardboard sign in big letters
“HUNGRY” and below that, “GODLESS”. Yes!
is my immediate reaction; another one of us,
and somehow in misfortunes wake. Then the
entrepreneur in me starts thinking: what a good way to get money. You play to the
humanists in the crowd, but probably still pick
up some missionary types that feel compelled
to say something evangelical
and while making contact
increases the chances that they will give something to prove their point that
God loves them, or Jesus is knocking
on the door of their heart, or
some other jehovah heart string hallmark
catch phrase.
They can’t help but say a refutation. There is
no room in their own fragile faith to allow other beliefs or
the negation of god advertised right here
in plain day for their children to see. Meanwhile,
I’m digging through my pockets to collect some
scratch to help this woman whose eyes are
open, despite being downcast. Remembering
that we just have each other to rely on in the
stern and uncaring
seasons of nature
and trapped in the
delusions of our fellows
superstitions and expectations and mood swings. Here is
someone who will at least appreciate who it is
that is helping her out.
Then I notice, as I
rolled slowly toward her, that the sign which is
heavily folded vertically down the center has been
obscuring the writing, which actually reads
“God Bless”, and I’m like, oh no, fuck that, and
just like that
drive past.
In a moments time, all compassion drained and
as I was turning the corner I thought,
if ever I end up there,
in need of a beggars sign…
I know what I’ll write
Big bear geese flop their tufts down as techno bumps quietly behind the river. Lilac hammocks sway. A korean stoops over his phone. A french couple smokes small cigarettes & shuffle their cards. Downstream a banquet is set up on the beach for some well healed tourists. Kids further out. Swimming. The night colors roll into muted proxies, like a filter knob slowly dimming. Staff rush ketchup, mayo and chilli sauce to the one group whose had too much drink, I consider joining them. - vang vieng; may, 2019
my childhood arose from the boxes like two
spine blooms.
sputtering across the bow of your last
bulb. there is one way out of this
listless, robotic, inattentive life.
perhaps memory is a way to touch
habits of speech. or
recollections of common influence.
we both agreed,
the attic held
a lot of echos,
too many maybe.
they came rushing back and forth
at us, from
across the floor.
i had to learn,
to just lean my head in and stop crying
so much.
i don't think
you ever thought you'd be here
listening to me talk like this.
i am an old man now weakened by a long illness
puzzling over my baseball cards.
though you are older,
i have decided
it would be better
were i to go first.
as i do now, down the attic
steps
holding my hand out for you
like clockwork
if it were made of wood
and not dust.
-December, 2022
I had a favorite coworker I nicknamed Dirty Frank. He never quite took to the name, but sorta liked having one. We shared common interests and I made him my mentor without telling anyone. We'd walk to "hipster coffees" and discuss books we were reading. He was a gifted communicator and former reporter. Despite being just two years older than me, he'd professionally advanced in leaps, whereas I was more bound. He's what happens to people who never take "gap years" to sleep in cars. Or hoof it across asia. He quit my firm unexpectedly. When I heard the news I called Dirty Frank and cursed at him. He laughed and took it well. When I cornered him, he explained the reason: "earning potential". He knew he'd be bored at the new job, but it had more "earning potential". A week later we took our last walk to hipster coffee on 6th and madison then, i watched him pack his office. Coworkers leaving are a strange kind of death. Soon i was on a plane back to asia. not knowing where i was going. no apartment no job kissing the girl i love goodbye and guttering my "earning potential" yet again.
what if the sun doesn’t come up today
and the sky never lightens again
would you buy stock in electricity
could you blame it all on Them?
the city light would make moths of men
and good luck finding parking then
if the sun stays down
would science prevail
to grow our crops and heat our lands
or would we start throwing children
to the volcanoes and altars
and worship fire again.
what do all these words amount to
captured in journals
and on napkins and coasters
all these rings and jewelry
trinkets amassed
shawls, and belts,
and boxers with sturdy waist bands
these photos
and harddrives
passwords to cloud storage
holding the digital yard sale
to me
and my glimpse of existence
sliced but for a brief arc
Letting go of the dramas
that were once so important.
When the absurdity
becomes normal
trivial
what is man
but a mortal body
with lone acts of benevolence
along its timeline
of corruption
We are all Gods
Keeping from each other
our reasons
Leaving unanswered
the tears we cause.
We are all Brutes
meeting with embrace
to eventually sink
the dagger
and to walk away (in silence)
ignoring the calls
of the dying
We are all Caesar
enduring the facade of love
lying in our own blood
with only “why” on our lips
We are all Gods
keeping from each other
our reasons
leaving unanswered
the tears we cause
Brother Rufus
isy badger
Robbie
samuelhamilton
Vic Neverman
waraexists
Zoey and the Zeitgeist 