The past is fluid. You think you have a handle on what was, but with some crucial bit of information you realize you had it all wrong. Who am I to you? Or you to me? What is the significance of a shared bite or a small gift? For me it was something, for you…just friends. “Just”. A four letter word like “shit” and “fuck” and “loss”. and “love” Which …
Happy hour. Dollar oysters. I don’t need no stinkin’ date. The happy hour cocktail is pear bourbon sour. Don’t like bourbon. I do like this. I write on paper, in a leather bound journal of handmade paper. It has a lock. Funny. This is old school. Normally, I’d take a picture. Just ink and paper. Here is an oyster. I’ve been sad. But one of the bartender shuckers …
Some of you are gracious. I am not. Yesterday, I was sad; today, I am mad. Today, I am not magnanimous. You voted for Trump? Not okay. I’m supposed to empathize with your disenfranchisement? I’m supposed to understand your anger? You didn’t vote because both were bad? Were you in a swing state? But you’re not a racist. (The kkk is holding a victory parade) Oh. And you’re not a …
I thought better of you, America. You’re not who I thought you were.
Three years of hormonal swings, occasional depression, misanthropy and my body’s break down… I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all I’m on the other side and I don’t know who or what I am. Still mom. The relationship didn’t survive, so scratch girlfriend – single lady I guess. Professor. Artist. In the room they come and go talking of …
Shooters target 12 officers in Dallas, 5 killed at the end of a peaceful demonstration. The demonstration follows the murder of two unarmed black men by police officers in two separate incidents. In the last few years, there has been many documented incidences of police brutality specifically targeting black people. Less than two weeks ago, a gunman killed 12 people at a gay night club. The attack specifically targeted that …
I’m in Manhattan eating a bagel as big as my head. We’re at a serviceman’s hostel: mom, Elaine and her boys, me and mine. 9:30 They’re all also except me. Typical. But here I am writing like dad would while on his travels. It feels right. It’s quiet. Mom sprang for this family gathering. Elice and Brahim couldn’t make it. It’s the end of Ramadan. We’ll see them later this …
Two handsome men at the bar. I look at them looking at me. It is a reminder that I am still alive.
Aidan is asleep. He’s on college time. The other two are with their dad. It’s his time. I’ve installed the ceiling. Looks good. Stained the crown moulding. Doing it all. Stained the shelving. Long overdue. I cleaned and repaired the espresso machine; attempted the same with the waffle iron – but that’s hopeless. It’s a frantic busyness. There’s been a lot of that. Just keep swimming – just keep swimming …
