Category Archives: journal

Objects in Mirror

 

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Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

I’m laying at the foot of my bed, where I’ve made camp. I balance the weight of my head on a pillow, but close enough to feel her labored breathing. My best friend is leaving me.

Last week she killed a groundhog and jumped in a river in excitement over a fish I caught. Now her little heart pounds arythmic against my ear. Her swollen belly rises and falls too fast. She struggles for breath and wakes. I dip my hand in water for her to lick.

My father died at home under hospice care. When he decided to refuse treatment, my mother raged in helpless tears. All those years. She didn’t want to accept what he had, that he was finished the fight.

Molly couldn’t tell me to let her go. I had to choose for her. But those eyes that always trusted me and looked to me, those eyes branded on my mind, they asked my permission. If I could never refuse her the last bite of a sandwich, how could I refuse her this? My puppy, my friend of thirteen years, asked me if she might retire from her long, loyal service. I could never deny her anything.

Molly, you saved me from a tarantula. Were my friend when I was friendless. You comforted me when I was sick. And after surgery, you were my physical therapist, making me get out for that walk. My drill sergeant on hikes. Fishing cheerleader and singing partner. We shot the breeze. And when I was down on myself, you were my motivational speaker. You listened when I was sad, and at my lowest point, you gave me reason to live. No matter what, you forced me to enjoy life, if only for you. I live for you, but not nearly so much as you for me.

I will stay here with you, Molly, as long as you want to stay. I’ll hold on to you forever, if that is your wish. My most devoted friend. My funny face that always makes me smile. Little pup. I’ll stay with you until you’re ready to lay down the long burden you bore with inspiring joy. Your precious, life-affirming soul. Always charging headlong into the fray, tenacious as your breed. Courageous heart. My Molly. My baby. My best friend. Thank you.


Per Ardua ad Astra

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Through struggle, the stars

 

I didn’t write or blog this week. I got a cold, slept and watched TNG on Netflix. I did keep waking up from cold medicine dreams to type ideas in Evernote. When the Dayquil wears off I’ll see if they’re any good.

Today I got a haircut. So I don’t look like Seasons 4-5 Daryl anymore. But it’s rainy and crap and now I’m going to take a nap. I despise unproductive weeks! It’s hard to rest now that I’m well after being sick all winter. I have so much to make up.

But seriously I’m going to take a nap. Then be up all night listening to SPQR by Mary Beard having asthma/panic attacks. Give me a few days. I’m a terminator. I’ll be back.


The Astronomer

 

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do not follow mine

 

An astronomer

tracing

distant bodies

in dark maths

where they fall

and never light

ellipses of brilliance

through obscure orbits

I perceive

and comprehend

 

 

 

 

 

 


Miserable Lie

 

 

The Smits, Louder Than Bombs

 …love is just a…

Came across this: Morrisey’s 10 Best Lyrics on Twitter for #worldpoetryday. Just ten? Really. So I’m just going to type out the lyrics to Miserable Lie from the album sleeve here. Of course, I suggest listening to it as well, if you want to see why this song is great. Remember taking walks in your crappy town, dragging your feet, remember when people’s “rooms” were somewhere safe? All that’s gone but this still happens.

Miserable Lie, The Smiths, 1984

So, goodbye
Please stay with your own kind
and I'll stay with mine

There's something against us
it's not time
So, goodbye

I know I need hardly say
how much I love your casual way
but please put your tongue away
a little higher and we're well away
the dark nights are drawing in
and your humour is as black as them
I look at yours, you laugh at mine
and "love" is just a miserable lie
you have destroyed my flower-like life
not once -- but twice
you have corrupt my innocent mind
not once -- but twice
I know the wind-swept mystical air
it means: I'd like to see your underwear
I recognize that mystical air
it means: I'd like to seize your underwear
what do we get for our trouble and pain?
just a rented room in the Whalley Range
into the depth of the criminal world
I followed her. . .

I need advice, I need advice
because nobody ever looks at me twice

I'm just a country-mile behind 
the world

so take me when you go.

 


Nothing Personal

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A projection reflected 

“A monolith protected by a Sphinx at each cardinal direction…eternally reflecting projections, with a challenge to all who approach.” That’s what I found looking back through my journals from last year, about this time of year. It was actually more of an oath I took with myself. I would never reveal myself fully in earnest to anyone ever again…it ruins all the fun.

Did you know that Sphinx is from the Greek for “to strangle”? Makes sense, like “asphixiation.” But yeah that’s what I wrote. That was my pledge to myself. Why? For a lot of reasons that are nobody’s business but my own. But I thought of this because of some recent requests that I post “more about myself” or urges to “be more honest.”

I’m here. I’m all over this blog. I’m all in the writing I’ve posted here. I’m in every character I write. They’re all more me than anyone  or anything else, including anything I could tell you about myself. Why look for the petty details? I urge you to believe that the facts are as dull as a year’s worth of Facebook pics of lattes and lunches…OMG my whatever is so whatever today…cats…

Regardless, some people like a mystery. But, as Sherlock Holmes often lamented, revealing the mystery behind his solutions to mysteries, mainly met with “Oh well that’s so obvious now.” Surely, the appreciation that Watson still held for his process was the reason he was Holmes’ only friend.

So why not leave well enough alone? Going back to Sphinxes, Oedipus paid a high price for his search for the truth. And once he saw, he blinded himself. So why not just leave it be? I’m all there, for the intrepid and observant, but is it really worth the pain? Me, my writing, it may all be me, but what you see is whatever you like. An infinite reflection of infinite projections. Why not just enjoy the show?

 

 

 


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