RMS Olympic

Sinking, thinking

When two minds collide

And the thoughts that keep me going

Turn viciously within 

Sinking, thinking

Too much to mull

Like mead on Christmas Day

Starfish

It’s late

The tap tap

 Buzz buzz

Ephemeral

 Rote

    

I’ve said these words before

  Time again

But still

The empty space

  On the right

Weighs heavy

  In abstenia

Your ghost substantial

  Still walks dreams

Not haunted

 Lost by my design

But still

It’s late

And I’m tired

Little boy blue

Little boy blue,

 Learn to blow your own horn

Don’t be a hoe on sheeps meadow,

 Relying on cows for their corn.

Be strong for yourself

 Earn your own keep

But if you insist on

  Laying with cows

Take care of yourself

  and put aside my keys

And where is this boy that’s so afraid

 Of self and kin?

He’s asleep – having convinced himself

 Aesthetics matter most

Will you wake him? No, not I,

 For when I tried he surely cried.

3 2 1

I was always told that I was Third.
Behind ineffable,
      inscrutable,
                                         then me!

But it seems to me
                           now
That is a silly way to be.

For if not                                  me!
then
    there is no we

We being me and you
       who do those things we do
when all will see we—that
    we—are you and                  me!

but us        us is another story

May Day

Beltane burns

   half from Spring.

The house is quiet now

  the fire died.

Strong proud mother sits silent watching

  One of her embers fading.

Badges on apps untapped

  smouldering ephemera. 

Beltane burns

  half to Summer.

Routine replaces revolution

  flaming the fans.

Heartbreak my companion

  Coal its avatar.

Hope and meaning entwined

  wick trimmed - steady.

Perchance to...

I won't sleep tonight

I never do

Twisty thoughts

and dangling conversations

The dull blue glow
of unsaid replies

Oxbow Lake

you're sitting there
   where the river once rushed
faded to pallor

and i'm sitting here
   numb from the trek
will to power

it's just change
  ya know
like smoke and windows

it just moves
  ya know
not like remembered

there and here
  once and now
two again; time for bed

a night club, or what can happen in 3 seconds

Our eyes just caught,

  I walked away. 

You followed me.  

That moment though,

  I saw it all. 

Our brand new life. 

Odd, uncertain

  I, too eager. 

You are distant. 

We get along,

  Get through it. 

You, happy now. 

The nights spent out,

  The city ours. 

Thinking too much. 

I know better,

  But I press. 

I should back off. 

We both felt it,

  It's perfect. 

It's scary though. 

You walk over,

  I say hi,

It was a dream. 

In progress

"I suppose that I've settled into a sort of bourgeois nihilism of late. So little seems to matter a great deal and the days slip by uncounted." He shifted in the banquette uncomfortably. We'd now been talking for two hours. The wait staff hated us, four coffees and two hours later. 

"Are you sure you're not just bored again" I asked, adopting aloofness. 

"You'd be so reductive"

"You'd be so melodramatic."

He idly stirred his coffee. My eyes wandered out the window into the always busy streets. 

"I suppose. But it all is intractable, however you choose to label it. We can't actually change anything of worth. That's a sort of boredom I suppose."

I hadn't heard him. I was too fascinated by the large man outside trying to thrust flyers for some local titty bar in the the hands of every passerby. He caught my eye because he seemed so enthusiastic. He wore ill fitting clothes, a smile seemingly the platonic ideal, and an honest swagger. He stood in stark contrast to the man before me. 

The point

I'm there

         now

Quiet. Still. Listening. 

       void is better

         now

than pretty lies

      told by prettier people

         now

I speak. Certainly. 

Tick tock

Tonight I miss routine,

And ever her proper bonnet. 

Tonight I miss represent,

So that I'm actually understood. 

Tonight I miss take,

My heart as my own and no longer his. 

Tonight I miss label,

A frown as a smile and walk about my life. 

Tomorrow I miss apply

Me. 

Tomorrow I miss direct

My friends. 

Tomorrow I miss appropriate

Time well spent. 

Tomorrow I miss match

Socks most likely. 

Tomorrow I miss align

A smirk for a boy. 

Tomorrow I miss speak 

For when anger is sought

But now I must stop

For I am completely wrong. 

Reflections on sin

I've done one you know,

  The unpardonable kind. 

I've worn bright colours

  On a dreary day. 

I've trusted beyond my ken,

 Causing damage beyond my mend.

I've said what's on my mind

  When yes was expected. 

I've fled. 

I've lead. 

I've caved. 

I've been late. 

I was so early that one time that I stood out like a sore thumb. 

I've been silent. 

I've been absent. 

I've not told you everything. 

I've told you too much. 

 

A little dance

It moved. It moved.

The damn thing moved. 

Violent but welcome

A sound understood 

Clattering against the granite. 

Length, wit, banter, turns

Cadence, tap, shoulders, hips

Commas

A future oddly, frighteningly in parallel

A dance in two parts from afar

Motion and inaction

Desire yet commitments

A chance thwarted yet sought

Tango across the pond

Waiting isn't skipping the beat

Furtive glances. Silent granite. 

It finally moved. 

Never today, hardly tomorrow.

More dancing. More in step. 

Empty spaces nonetheless. 

Tuesday isn't here 

Can never be

Monday never ended

Thrice thwarted spaces

Timetables ever triumphant. 

Since some of you have been asking...

Some of you might have noticed that I've been traveling a lot recently. It's for highly personal reasons that I don't care to share at large; some of you know why or suspect. Those that don't—I'm fine, I have all my bits and bobbles and everything is working (better) than specifications dictate. I've also managed to go three weeks now without roller skating into any walls, though I make no promises for the rest of this trip. 

I've rediscovered an important aspect about life. It's not about where you go or what you do per se, it's about how you do it. I'm headed to Monaco as I'm writing this. In the past two days I've visited my uncles in Fort Lauderdale, spent a half day in London, meeting new people and visiting old haunts, chunneled to Paris, walking around the city in the dead (that city is never dead!) of night just looking at places and observing the quite frankly beautiful denizens of the city of lights. (Seriously guys do you ever sleep? I thought I was bad!)

In a few minutes I'll jump on a helicopter to fly into Monaco. Why a helicopter? Because almost no one else will. It's not a train or a taxi or bus—it's not the usual route. That's my point and my continuing vow, to approach life, situations, and people in ways that almost no one else will. 

It's not a question of means, it's a willingness to be open to new ideas and new methods when opportunities present themselves. I had no idea about the helicopter option before I heard about it. There was no plan other than my standing plan—like Alice do three impossible things before breakfast...wait that's someone else's plan. I'm sure I have a standing plan around here somewhere. 

Do something new today, if it's only taking a new way home. Call a old friend, make a new one. Smile. Drop your grudges. Your soul will thank you. Who knows, next time I decide to up and just take off (that happens a lot it seems) you might be sitting next to me. 

Musing

Beat down, time needed, a shell, they've said.

 

A shell is structure. A shell is framework. A shell is all that is needed for massive coral structures to grow and thrive and provide shelter to life abundant. 

Does a shell need courage? Or just to be?

Of course...

Of course we rush in, we closet romantics of the post-modern age. We who can't help but to love to the core in the world jaded. 

Of course we ignore the battle scars, the wounds earned despite our better judgement. We who can't help to bleed over and over again. 

Of course we are to become twisted, doomed to be the worst of the dead. We who have tasted purity in an imperfect world. 

Of course the darkness bites at our souls, ravenous to sup upon the once alive. We, the fools, compelled to try again and again. 

Be foolish I say. Be alive I say. Be the spark and the light that no one can bear to look at. Bleed. Bleed. Bleed. For we are the hope against the banal. We know, we KNOW the path in the world of the lost. 

Phantoms

Constructs surround us all, wisps of the earned and unearned reputations, ivy-covered ruins of our lover's well-meaning but limiting boxes, threads of memories half-present, now more story than history. We are more idea of a person than person. Like Cylons, we all live in an augmented reality of our own delusions.

Am I talking to, loving, hating, bantering with, sparring, one-upping, and helping him, or the construct that I carry of him? Do I ever really interact with people? Perhaps Plato was ultimately right and I've only been dealing with shadows.

All that remains...

Words. That's all I seem to have left. My serious entanglements are unknotted, my casual ties—frayed. All that remains are words, phrases, half-truths, partial lies, stories untold, a cacophony of letters jostling in and out of order, demanding my attention as I try and take stock of a shattered life. 

Lives are meant to be shattered. Risks are to be taken. A safe life is not the life worth living. If you're lucky, your life will be shattered too. 

The tenuous, yet very sincere, bonds we form obviously shape us. Many like to opine about this, but we often fail to realise the lesson we should take from basic chemistry. Hydrogen doesn't stop being hydrogen simply because it's currently hooking up with oxygen. Fundamentally we are unchanged by ties we form and if we are truly, truly, fortunate in life, we will be reminded of this a few times. 

So as I look around, alone, tatters of one life beside and behind me, with merely words to guide me, I choose some of my favourites, "I'm nobody. Who are you? / Are you nobody too?"

Words. I'm in good company finally. 

This was my night last night...

JD and I didn't quite know what to expect, on one hand we knew that our spirits were high, and we expected Bev's to be as well—after all, today marked a major victory in the forty-four year battle towards equality—but on the other hand, we both knew that Steve had just lost his father and was not really up for socializing yet. Bev had forced his hand a bit in coming to Dallas in the first place, and he had, unbeknownst to us, requested that dinner be kept to a minimal amount of people. In fact, he had just wanted Bev, whom he adores, and JD and me. So there we were, walking into lavishing zen space. JD, being too tall, was ducking to avoid the slender, vibrantly green bamboo that was defiantly rustling in the stifling Texas heat. The crunch of our flip-flops on the meticulously cared-for gravel rock garden. We actually haven't had a moment to speak during the day. Earlier we had been glued to our iPads, laptops, TV, twitter feeds, SCOTUS blogs, and every other social media outlet that you could imagine, all whilst trying to be productive at our respective jobs and fight back hot, wet, sticky tears that welled up unbidden as the waves of emotion crashed over us both. At one point I had to excuse myself upstairs to the office, of course I muttered something about having to get some work done, but it was really to hide the fact that I was barely in control. It had all seemed so distant—so…academic until then. Suddenly, there was a real chance. An honest to god, real chance of not only being able to marry, but of it being in my lifetime, and in Texas! Obviously there was still a fight, but it was suddenly tangible, and I was overwhelmed. So I grabbed his arm and waited for him to look me in the eyes as I stood quietly in a rock garden, guarded by defiant bamboo in the Texas heat. I paused, very aware of the now, kissed him and told him how much I loved him.

Dinner was a blur of office gossip and catching up. Poor JD was subjected to a litany of names he didn't know, products he didn't care about, drama he wasn't invested in, but, as usual, he was magnificent. Steve warmed throughout the night, truly happy for us, his pain palpable but salved by company and conversation. Life does that I've noticed. The desire to be alone and lick your wounds; it seems like a good idea, but the real, lasting cure, is exactly opposite of what you want to do. After the first Sapporo Bev started talking about her wife and their life together, about their redneck friend that comes over and grills them grouper "cause at the end of the day…lesbians are okay." Laughter and smiles infused everything. I had my coffee. Then it started. My phone wouldn't stop blowing up. Everyone was asking if I was going down to the strip. Wednesdays are almost never a real going out night. It's the hardcore alkies and service industry folk out, the random out of towner or the guy just "had a rough day." I do mean everyone too, the most random assortment of people texting. I pause the conversation at the table and present what's going on, also throwing out that we could swing by Sue Ellen's since Bev's with us (and we NEVER go there). Steve immediately gets the RCA dog look on his face. Sue Ellen's? The rest of us look at him…JR's, Sue Ellen's? What town are you in? The cliched ton of bricks hits him. At that point it's a done deal, we're headed to the gayborhood.

You may or may not know this but I have a convertible. I bought it on my lunch break one day at work when I worked at Texas Instruments. I'm typically not rash about large purchases, but sometimes, just sometimes, you need to make a statement. I'm still not sure what I was trying to say the day I bought it, but it got said! But having a convertible last night allowed us to experience something that I never really thought happened in real life, but only in film. You know that effect on the screen where the cinematographer slows the action and there is slight tunneling effect, where, on the screen the world is moving in slow motion usually focussed on some unnaturally pretty person doing something ridiculous like holding a sparkler on the beach or running through the woods or some nonsense like that? In real life, the world is clearly moving normally, but your brain is processing so quickly that it appears as if world is almost standing still—stupid pretty people and sparklers and everything. If it weren't so cool I would have been annoyed. We turned onto Cedar Springs and it was evident immediately this was not an ordinary night. Cue the special effects…the street was packed and possibly for the first time that I recall, it wasn't drunken stupidness, it was genuine, tear-laden, joy. People were dancing, hugging, jumping, and embracing. There were LED signs spelling out EQUALITY, LOVE, 6-26-2013, and all sorts of slogans. The Matthew Shepard memorial was surrounded and I thought about what difference fifteen years makes. He was born the same year I was. We kept driving and everywhere we looked we saw people we knew, people that almost never came to the strip, people that usually don't smile. We got caught at a red light and people were swarming around us. Have you ever been engulfed in happiness? I can now say that I have. It's humbling to say the least. There were impromptu church services celebrating our victory on the street and, we found out later, at one of the bars! Churches! Celebrating FOR us! My years of animosity melted instantly.

We finally got to Sue Ellen's and waited for Steve and Bev to park and join us. The night of office gossip was now mostly abandoned, replaced with a steady stream of people that JD and I knew finding us, hugging us, sometimes with a lot to say, sometimes with the inability to say much but the remnants of tears speaking for them. To say last night was a celebration is an insult. There was no planning here, no organization, nothing so paltry or petty as mere celebration. Last night was a manifestation of pure zeitgeist.

Reboot

Everything prior to this post is from 2007 and before...I decided to resurrect this blog and didn't really have the heart to clear away the content. It's nothing special, a few photos from a Taiwan trip, a Cyndi Lauper concert...true miscellany.

Cyndi Lauper

Backlog - Taiwan Trips

Backlog - Taiwan Trips