The Summons
Not unlike a jury
whose comradery is bound by a declaration of
blind justice
we sat crouched in our
canopy of green light
hoping our ever loving
wonderment of possibility
would lift us high
into the clouds of
our own making.
The recipient of our good tiding
would be crushed by our want,
slowly diminishing the prickles of a millions well placed
protective spherical needles
protruding
from our untouched skin.
Our sweet-nature,
too much for most,
like fly paper
--too tempting--
a fly would die in its might.
With sticky wings beating, trying to free or fly out,
injuring itself, weighted, by an ounce of temptation.
We were fly, we were the paper.
And we whispered to the honeycomb,
and hollowed trees
whose branches bore our weight,
and the message we spoke, sank to the roots,
sucking up the sap of beauty.
Our mighty mighty hunt for that one,
who would carefully let our head
linger and nestle in our soured bosom,
waited in the muddy banks
of the river we wept with love.
Revolver
Take a skinny dip into the warm psyche. Have a dialog with the strung-out ego. Categorize a few mental meanderings. Enjoy some rhymes if you've got the time. Feel free to leave some confessions of your own.
Monday, January 7, 2019
Thursday, August 23, 2018
For our bodies are made to be
Did you know
that we are taller in the morning?
Our muscles
Having braved the night
away from gravity
lengthened beyond its reach,
Feeling outstretched,
Limitless ...
And upon waking,
Our measure
Is tightened again,
Having
To bear the weight of another day.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
It's still Cancer season
Much.
Under the soft glow of midnight moon
I think of her,
and news reports of bone dry fields burning,
as do I.
with want and a kiss,
but she is sleeping sound,
across town,
in the bed where we slept
apart
and nothing touched
but a freckle
and
I feel as though
I stifled the lone ember.
Under the soft glow of midnight moon
I think of her,
and news reports of bone dry fields burning,
as do I.
with want and a kiss,
but she is sleeping sound,
across town,
in the bed where we slept
apart
and nothing touched
but a freckle
and
I feel as though
I stifled the lone ember.
Monday, April 30, 2018
On friendship
"If you consider any man a friend whom you do not trust as you trust yourself, you are mightily mistaken and you do not sufficiently understand what true friendship means… When friendship is settled, you must trust; before friendship is formed, you must pass judgment. Those persons indeed put last first and confound their duties, who … judge a man after they have made him their friend, instead of making him their friend after they have judged him. Ponder for a long time whether you shall admit a given person to your friendship; but when you have decided to admit him, welcome him with all your heart and soul. Speak as boldly with him as with yourself… Regard him as loyal and you will make him loyal." -Seneca
All the news that's fit to print
Dear Pen pal,
All the growth I've mustered over the past year has been documented and it is important I look back on it, and in turn offer myself the most heartfelt compassion.
Yesterday was a bucolic, and transcendent day. I drove up the 30 to Astoria with my dear friend, whom still embarrasses me with ease, and with liberty that only an ex can do. We visited a pal who had relocated to that sleepy town. She lives in an old Victorian home surrounded by hills, and a herd of cows. We wished to live in one of the rooms and take naps on the couch. For a moment our lives were put on hold, stresses gave way to goofiness and playful banter. My pal's menagerie of pets were also part of the charm.
When we left we listened to Van Morrison and belted out the lyrics.
It was a lovely day.
And today I shared in a meeting about my current struggle on the 9th step. I'm in this amends making journey, that is neither sweet, nor bitter, only a struggle because it is a real one.
And I inch down the list. Looking at resentments of old, trying to apologize for the wrongs I've done and somehow finding the strength to do this work.
Now is the time to give it over to my higher power, because I certainly don't have any reason to think I have control. I can only be truthful, because in the end, the greatest amends will be the one I offer myself.
Thanks for letting me vent.
Sincerely,
-R
All the growth I've mustered over the past year has been documented and it is important I look back on it, and in turn offer myself the most heartfelt compassion.
Yesterday was a bucolic, and transcendent day. I drove up the 30 to Astoria with my dear friend, whom still embarrasses me with ease, and with liberty that only an ex can do. We visited a pal who had relocated to that sleepy town. She lives in an old Victorian home surrounded by hills, and a herd of cows. We wished to live in one of the rooms and take naps on the couch. For a moment our lives were put on hold, stresses gave way to goofiness and playful banter. My pal's menagerie of pets were also part of the charm.
When we left we listened to Van Morrison and belted out the lyrics.
It was a lovely day.
And today I shared in a meeting about my current struggle on the 9th step. I'm in this amends making journey, that is neither sweet, nor bitter, only a struggle because it is a real one.
And I inch down the list. Looking at resentments of old, trying to apologize for the wrongs I've done and somehow finding the strength to do this work.
Now is the time to give it over to my higher power, because I certainly don't have any reason to think I have control. I can only be truthful, because in the end, the greatest amends will be the one I offer myself.
Thanks for letting me vent.
Sincerely,
-R
Tuesday, April 24, 2018
This.
Pablo Neruda - Die Slowly
He who becomes the slave of habit,
who follows the same routes every day,
who never changes pace,
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
who does not speak and does not experience,
dies slowly.
He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white,
dotting ones "it’s" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,
that turn a yawn into a smile,
that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,
dies slowly.
He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,
who is unhappy at work,
who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,
to thus follow a dream,
those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,
die slowly.
He who does not travel, who does not read,
who does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself,
she who does not find grace in herself,
dies slowly.
He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,
who does not allow himself to be helped,
who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,
dies slowly.
He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who don't reply when they are asked something they do know,
die slowly.
Let's try and avoid death in small doses,
reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.
Only a burning patience will lead
to the attainment of a splendid happiness.Pablo Neruda
who follows the same routes every day,
who never changes pace,
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
who does not speak and does not experience,
dies slowly.
He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white,
dotting ones "it’s" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,
that turn a yawn into a smile,
that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,
dies slowly.
He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,
who is unhappy at work,
who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,
to thus follow a dream,
those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,
die slowly.
He who does not travel, who does not read,
who does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself,
she who does not find grace in herself,
dies slowly.
He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,
who does not allow himself to be helped,
who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,
dies slowly.
He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who don't reply when they are asked something they do know,
die slowly.
Let's try and avoid death in small doses,
reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.
Only a burning patience will lead
to the attainment of a splendid happiness.Pablo Neruda
Monday, April 23, 2018
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Dear pen pal,
Why am awake? I just got home. It was a karaoke night. I sang. (I just misspelled that sand and now I'm distracted by the thought of me being sand.) I had too many cokes. I dropped off a couple of the friends. They were drunk.
My favorite part of these types of things is not talking. It was too loud to talk, and since most of my job is to talk, I love when I fucking don't have to. I'm missing the ocean.
I wanted to do more self-care this week, but this week sucks.
Self-care as in, eat more than one meal in a single day and try to drink less coffee. Maybe eat a fucking vegetable. Salad? Maybe.
It has been a week where sentimental thoughts have reminded me that I do have time for some of those aforementioned feelings. And they sure do arise.
I finally met that person Daisy in real life. I think she was flirting with me. It's really weird when people come on too strong? I'm always like... what am I suppose to do here? So I awkwardly paid for my coffee and walked away.
Smooth.
Anyways. I need to try to sleep. We have an action tomorrow. What a weird life...what a beautiful life.
Soon.
-R
p.s. write soon
Sunday, April 15, 2018
ducks
cor·dial
ˈkôrjəl/
adjective
- 1.warm and friendly."the atmosphere was cordial and relaxed"
synonyms: friendly, warm, genial, affable, amiable, pleasant, fond, affectionate, warmhearted, good-natured, gracious, hospitable, welcoming, hearty "a cordial welcome"
noun
- 1.NORTH AMERICANanother term for liqueur.
synonyms: liqueur, drink "fruit cordial" - 2.a comforting or pleasant-tasting medicine.
Dear pen pal,
I started smoking again. I don't feel
too bad about it. It was suggested to me to also remember that I
could not smoke and try screaming and crying, but I rarely have time
for screaming and crying.
I had a great time in Chicago. I was
particularly moved by the St. Francis of Assisi portrait that I sat
in front of. There I said the prayer of St. Francis (although he
didn't write it) it felt right in the moment. The Art Institute of
Chicago had just changed out their Rodin exhibit so unfortunately we
missed seeing “The Thinker”. There just wasn't enough time to
breathe it all in.
At the conference I met the most
interesting people while outside the hotel having smoke breaks. It
was quite cold. The lowest it got there during my stay was 27. I had
never been east of New Mexico, and seeing the Great Lake was awe
inspiring. The color of that water was a shade of blue I'd never
seen. I looked hard into the abyss and never saw the bottom. The
ducks were unafraid, but I feared that the deepness of the lake could
pull me in, even though I was firmly standing on a dock.
On my return flight (which I fucking
hated because sitting still is not my forte) I received word that my
boss has been fired. He had been awful to work for, and we organized
to get rid of him. Now we are floating without a bottom... I'm not
sure what sort of battle is yet to come, but I will accept all forms
of prayer.
I got you a postcard. It is of one of
the tourist spectacles. All in all I enjoyed my time in 'the windy
city'. There were some folks who were nicer than others, and it was
refreshing. Portland can be dull with niceties and it is neither
kind, not cordial to lure others into an abyss of your inability to
set a boundary. Don't make eye contact on the 'L'.
I see that I have some reoccurring
themes here.
More to ponder on another day. Good
luck with the new moon.
-R
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
ESSR and Iran
4/3/18
Dear Pen pal,
I woke up this morning before my alarm
went off at 6:15. I got 6 hours of sleep, but feel more well rested
than I have in weeks. (The depression doesn't make you feel rested,
its just a weight that keeps you in bed longer.) I got up early to go
to East side sunrise. My friend Layla is leaving to Iran for a month
and I really wanted to spend more time with her before she left. My
growth in recovery has allowed me to go deeper into relationships
than ever before. And as an added gift, as I was heading home, I saw
Gradey Proctor in his car waiting for the light. We rolled down our
windows and said hello. I felt big gratitude for community. Which led
me to thinking about that word, community, and knowing that that is
why the person I dated for a month dumped me. I must write about
them, but I won't write out their name to respect their anonymity,
and instead will refer to them as Jasper, which is probably a name
they would like.
Jasper was scared. Jasper wanted to
keep their romantic relationships separate from their friendships and
their work life. Jasper wanted control. I have learned, through my
experience with addiction primarily, the more you try to control
something, the more you've lost control. And when I spoke of my
community, and all I do to maintain it, they did more than furl, they
expelled anything that might of come of our interaction. They were
comfortable with getting off, and flirting with whatever idea of me
they were turned on by, but as with all things, the reality of the
way I conduct myself was not going to jive with the carefully curated
control they have on their reality.
Now, I reflect on their person-hood,
their actions, my actions, and patterns, I am unearthing this
realization of how I need to write it out. This connection to
writing. I've always kept journals, and even used codes to make sure
I could get it out, but remain safe. And now I see I need to show
myself some of the ease I allow others. I see the compassion, that I
give, and I apologize for those time I judged you on your fears.
Fears are SO necessary. They help us. Fears are triggers. Fears are
real. I'm sorry I judged you, and tried to offer myself as a solution
to your insecurities, because I AM flawed. Obviously. That doesn't
mean I'm not without quality. I'm an experienced human, yes, lived
real experience with MISTAKES.
I can't burn all those bad ideas in
fire and look at the ash thinking it's gone. No, I can't control
others. I can only control my actions. And even that is impossible
sometimes. Sometimes those impulses take hold and send a text that
was malformed. Sometimes I buy sugar, caffeine, cigarettes, and avoid
all things good. Sometimes I roll down the windows and break speed
limits. Sometimes I let the heart do what the head insists is
illogical. How I long to drive and drive and drive away from my life.
Those hard, hard moments. I'm not sure I can drive fast enough. And
driving away from my life, away from my perception of what is wrong,
will only result in me driving and finding the same thing....me.
There I am.
I'm sorry it has been awhile since
I've written. Work has been tough. Real awful actually. I'm not being
honest to myself. And I'm holding on too tight to things that aren't
working. And I'm using the wrong tools to stab through the
falsehoods.
I'm leaving to Chicago Wednesday
night. I'm so excited. This is my first time traveling east of New
Mexico. I paid for the trip with my own money. I'll be at a labor
conference but I hope to explore a bit. It's going to be cold out
there. I plan on eating deep dish, hot dogs, and finding the Mexican
barrio that I've been told about. I'll pick you up a gift.
I'm sure I won't find bones like I did
in the desert, but I'm sure there will be ghosts. And I like those.
I'm going to sign off. My musings are
starting to ramble. I will close with this thought:
Nothing is impossible.
I must go call my sponsor. A walk will
do me well. I'm going to go visit that house I was dreaming about at
6 am. I will pretend it is mine, and every, window would be covered
in my houseplants, and a lazy dog, and cat would be there keeping me
company as I played Thelonius Monk and shook the dust off my record
collection. Wouldn't that be nice?
Talk soon,
R
Monday, April 2, 2018
St. Angelica
Late
and I'm driving home.
Sad song plays on the radio, the taste of cigarettes masked by the sweetness of Angelica.
I know this is the room where I live, but it is not home. It is the place of my belongings and where I listen to the sounds of life. And in the restless hour, where voices sleep, I stare at the blue light glow of ceiling shadows, making patterns of what my mind paints.
Sunday, April 1, 2018
This is mine...this space is mine.
Last
from the desert
with dirt
under nails
heard
by the dust
and this
is where
I can say
that the moon
and fools
are all under
and when it swells
it is not
without
or within
but always
just
mine.
Monday, March 26, 2018
i'm on strike with matches
I.
Non-alcoholic elixir of herbs and magic
ISO MOC/hard femme types . ..
for constructive arguments, witty banter, and silence.
This abuelo has a very low-tolerance for yt bullshit.
My arms are too tired for more emotional labor, but we can tear up over some, This Is Us. I keep wondering what is better than Randall? Then Kevin comes through with something.
Let's look longingly at rivers with forgotten names,
and I can read to you, and you trace your fingers over my
lines, skin, breaks.
listen
I hear
your
heart.
II.
Dark and moody type, seeking out the same for calling out sick, and fucking in bed.
III.
Incredibly good external organizer with messy desk ISO fellow coffee addict. I can't really converse without it in the morning. And I generally don't trust those who don't drink coffee.
In the summer I will make too many jars of sun tea and you can help keep track of where I've left my thoughts.
IV.
Stubborn cancer with floating earth parts ISO a human that has a catalog of life experience and wants to fold me into her pages. Please be mildly into biting.
V.
Good humored belly-laugher can intuitively tell when you might need a gift, a card, or nothing at all. Let's walk the Oregon coast, get cold and wet, and spend evenings by fire, exploring the roar of . . . .
VI.
Rock and disease coin collector ISO a dusty, neglected, lover, who is ready to spend countless hours trying to connect, but we're both too busy to physically meet up.
VII.
Lonesome human, with kindness to share ISO, one person who is willing to commit to the imperfections of life. You: Smile with your whole body; offer me things you can never actually give; quote my favorite authors; cook with the grace of all your ancestors.
Me: I love with loyalty to a fault; I buy too many cards, that I never send; I spend most days sitting in my car, trying to catch a glimpse of Red Tailed Hawks.
Non-alcoholic elixir of herbs and magic
ISO MOC/hard femme types . ..
for constructive arguments, witty banter, and silence.
This abuelo has a very low-tolerance for yt bullshit.
My arms are too tired for more emotional labor, but we can tear up over some, This Is Us. I keep wondering what is better than Randall? Then Kevin comes through with something.
Let's look longingly at rivers with forgotten names,
and I can read to you, and you trace your fingers over my
lines, skin, breaks.
listen
I hear
your
heart.
II.
Dark and moody type, seeking out the same for calling out sick, and fucking in bed.
III.
Incredibly good external organizer with messy desk ISO fellow coffee addict. I can't really converse without it in the morning. And I generally don't trust those who don't drink coffee.
In the summer I will make too many jars of sun tea and you can help keep track of where I've left my thoughts.
IV.
Stubborn cancer with floating earth parts ISO a human that has a catalog of life experience and wants to fold me into her pages. Please be mildly into biting.
V.
Good humored belly-laugher can intuitively tell when you might need a gift, a card, or nothing at all. Let's walk the Oregon coast, get cold and wet, and spend evenings by fire, exploring the roar of . . . .
VI.
Rock and disease coin collector ISO a dusty, neglected, lover, who is ready to spend countless hours trying to connect, but we're both too busy to physically meet up.
VII.
Lonesome human, with kindness to share ISO, one person who is willing to commit to the imperfections of life. You: Smile with your whole body; offer me things you can never actually give; quote my favorite authors; cook with the grace of all your ancestors.
Me: I love with loyalty to a fault; I buy too many cards, that I never send; I spend most days sitting in my car, trying to catch a glimpse of Red Tailed Hawks.
portrait
5 things I am grateful for today:
1. Coffee
2. Black clothes
3. The voice of Sarah Vaughn singing "The very thought of you".
4. I don't have an amends to make today.
5. Me
1. Coffee
2. Black clothes
3. The voice of Sarah Vaughn singing "The very thought of you".
4. I don't have an amends to make today.
5. Me
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