Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Who has to die?

I think I know why my body is so big. There is a second person inside of me. I eat so much to keep him in. To keep him from escaping. It's my only defense. If he escapes I will die There is a second body inside this old body. No one knows it. This old body is Mormon. Is proper. Is chaste. The inner body burns with passion. Do the people I pass have any idea what is in me. Do the know what I am trying to hide? He wants to break out leave the shell and fly. I am old and dying. He is old, but still an infant. If you were to see his naked corpse you would see a man who should have been born years ago. But I have kept him in. He is still an embryo. And when he breaks out he won't know what to do. So I feed him. And I hope the food will substitute for his passion. That my secret yearnings never are birthed.

Thursday, January 14, 2016


The warm comfortable lie Such is the lie that forgives our base actions Such is the lie that feigns comfort and help to the weak and weary, but, offers no solution Such is the lie that blocks us from our future Such is the lie that keeps us in our past This lie takes the wounded and comforts them in place, while they still lie wounded on the battlefield, with the enemy advancing The cold hard damning lie It hates, it destroys from within. It stops progression by fear. It tells us we have no potential. It tells us friends are not real. It tells us that we are second class. It tells us to stay in one place out of fear

The warm lie gives way to the cold lie as we try to leave the field.   No longer able to keep us in unknown danger with sweet nothings whispered in our ear, the beautiful nurse transforms into a wraith, a banshee, who will tear our psyche apart if we will not stay with her.

Her lies keep her there, she cannot follow, but can only call out.   Can only scream.  Can only use words to keep us with her.  For all her thrashing she is as powerless as we make her, or as strong.

Thursday, December 10, 2015

sometimes when i see an attractive person i think, i'd like to get to know them. I'd like to see if we could have a relationship. I wonder what it'd be like to spend my life with them. To build a life. To have children, to not be alone but then i remember i'm looking at a man. so i can't have any of that. If i felt that way toward a woman dating and marriage would be possible.

Friday, December 4, 2015


I thought that by riding with the horsemen of firth I could hide from the jabberwocky. That he would seek others. But in the creative acts that formed me, I was bound to this demon. And I will never escape it, but must fight.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Christmas Potatoes

Ethel Burbank lived for 94 long years, however she only had Christmas, in 93 of them.

It was December 14th, 2015.   An angelic little girl came to visit Ethel.  I assume she was her granddaughter, I had only worked at the Senior Center for a few weeks.  Her small perfect hands grasped Ethel’s gnarled stiff hands with arthritic bulges. 

“I brought you a Christmas present.  Here open it.” 

Ethel didn’t seem to notice. 

“Please Grandma.”  The girl’s father whispered something to her.  And she gave up.   “I love you so much.” And with that the little angel gave the most sincere hug, and kiss on the cheek I think I’ve ever seen.

One of the most painful parts of Alzheimer's is the way people who suffer from it sometimes react.  They don’t understand what’s’ going on.  It’s hard on adults, but even harder on children. 

“Get off me you little brat!” Ethel barked, “get out of here.”

Time paused at the angel’s face went from love to confusion, to sadness, to a full bawling.  Her father scooped her up and carried her from the room.  The daggers of the shattered mind, had flown once more.

I didn’t see them again, for the rest of Ethel’s life.  

The holidays kept on coming.  The snow fell.  Church groups came and sang.  Families bustled in and out.   Ethel had a few other guest, but she was even less responsive than normal.

About a week later, I was working the graveyard shift.  The lights were dim.  I was reading some blog.  And Ethel came shuffling down the hall. Cradled in her armss were TV remotes, pictures from our bulletin board of volunteers, and a banana.  Sometimes a patient will revert to hoarding.  A little flustered at having my quiet night shift interrupted, I took the items away and took Ethel back to her room.

Two hours later, Ethel was  going through the pantry.   Once again back down the hall with her.   She kept muttering “Christmas, it’s Christmastime.  Don’t you like the snow?  Do you think Anna will come see me.  She has such pretty eyes”

The next day Ethel was all about presents.  “Have you seen my presents? Can we go to Macy’s?  I must buy something for Anna.  Where is Mark?  He would take me.  You’re useless.  All you do is sit around here.”

Ethel coded that night.   She was gone.  I felt bad for not taking her shopping, not that it’s something we do, but still-- sometimes you just want to humor an old person.

As we cleaned up Ethel’s room, and organized the few things she still owned, I found some lumps under her mattress.  Solid, misshapen things, like her hands I thought, and immediately felt bad.  Pulling back the mattress there were a dozen or so potatoes.   Taped to each potato was a photo that I recognized from our volunteer or staff boards. Each photo had been scrawled upon.  Most were illegible, but some said “Merry” others  looked like “Christmas”  and on a photo of the little angel girl who had come to visit her before was written “love you.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with the Christmas Potatoes as we called them.   In the end we decided to give them to the people in the picture.  Some people were confused, but some had bright eyes as they received Ethel’s last Christmas gift.

I tracked down the angle girl, who I noticed had the most beautiful blue eyes.  Her name was Sarah.  Her father and her had adopted Ethel as grandma after their own had passed away.

I explained that we had found the potatoes and I knew it wasn’t a normal present—Sarah cut me off.

“Oh it’s the most perfect present ever.   Ethel was so nice and beautiful.  And sometimes mean…   But that’s ok.  She’s with God now and He loves her, and she didn’t know what she was doing”

“How do you know that”

“She saw me last night, and her hands were soft, and she gave me a hug.  And told me”

I took my own potato out of the my car, and kept it near my desk.  A gift is more than the present itself.  A gift is a vessel of good intent

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Nice boy

He’s a happy boy. Smiles all the time. Kind to a fault. Polite. Opens doors. But no friends. Being nice isn’t all that’s needed for friendship. He doesn’t connect He is different But he smiles. He is nice. At home he cries. He wants someone to love him Someone who can’t So he cries.

Friday, November 13, 2015

Going Back

Had pie last night with a group of guys, to offer support to a guy who is just barely coming to terms with his orientation/sexuality/whatever term he'd prefer. 

Sitting there, i remembered all the water under the bridge since i did the same thing. I know it's a common experience, the first time you met other dudes who like dudes. I sat there thinking, why does this guy have to go through this. I assumed he'll have similar dark nights and hard choices. That his life isn't what he thought it would be growing up. I really wanted to tell him to run back into the closet. Live the closeted life.

Cause being gay is hard. regardless of what you choose to do with it. 

But that's the thing isn't it. Running in back to ignoring my sexuality won't help people. I'm not talking about being public here, but i'm talking about admitting to myself I have an attraction to men. 

It can't be done. As much as i would like to go back to the innocence of when i was a kid, before i realized this thing--sometimes i'm happy with it, sometimes i curse God for it-- was part of my life, I can't. 

What i really was sad about was the loss of innocence. The loss of the simple life. It's a common part of growing up. 

The Garden of Eden was super fun. Lots of animals with bellies to rub, lots of trees with fruit that would make hecka sweet smoothies, and like plants, and also, no clothes. Seriously, they gotta just run around nekkid. But when innocence is lost, you can't go back. And really that's not the point. you enter a world that's lonely and dreary, kinda sucks. and people start to insist you confine yourself with clothing. But it's where you learn stuff, it's where you figure stuff out. 

So, yeah. Going back. doesn't happen. Leaving the closet, at least for myself has been good. I can't ascribe the crap of my life to the fact that i'm open about my sexuality. I had crap when i was in the closet too. Crap comes, but so does good stuff. Too make an awkward ineffective example, you can't get fresh milk if you stay under your blanket, you gotta go squeeze those cow teats yourself. 

Life gets complicated but it's gotta, and gets better.