Saturday, April 23, 2011


…I was at the first-ever HOUSEFIRE reading Thursday night, at Riley Michael Parker's place, as were about fifty other twenty-something hipsters.
It was a blast.
I had a blast. At Riley’s house, I did.
It was my first reading since college. I was a little nervous. The lights were dim. It was hard to see. I think I did okay. I believe I would give myself the grade of B- for that reading. I will get better at reading my own work aloud. Yes, I will.
At the HOUSEFIRE House Party there was cool music and cigarette smoke, lots of alcohol in many pretty colors, and a plate of pot brownies economically priced at a reasonable exchange rate of $3.00 per crunchy chocolate square.
I met just about everyone there. Some people I knew from online. Some people were shy, some funny and LOUD. Some were complex. Some were drinking too much.

…The drive down to Portland from my place is four hours. Even when I'm hauling ass, which I usually am, it's still four hours. I listened to Ryan Adams the whole way there, the whole way back. And I thought of you the entire time. That's a true story. Believe it if you want. I can't make up your mind for you.

…Do you ever do this: think that you are someone else living inside someone else's skin when what you really want is to be You living within your own true flesh? No? Yes?
Well, I do that. Sometimes, I do. I wonder what went wrong with my choices, my self-esteem, fate or God or my willingness to be the real Me. I question how I ended up here instead of there, where it seems like I was supposed to be. And after a tumble of thought on this subject, I wonder who the real Me really is.
There are moments when the real Me and the faux Me argue and struggle, like Jacob and the angel. There's never a winner.
The battle just gets rescheduled.
The audience becomes impatient.
Life chuffs forward, a little sore and out of breath, chest tight from over-working itself.

…Right now there are crimes being committed in someone's country; yours, mine.
If you've done something wrong, I'm going to bend down and whisper in your ear. I'm going to softly say, "It's okay. Nobody's perfect. I still care for you. And you are forgiven for whatever it was that is haunting you."

…Let's be honest: this morning I feel like molding fruit. Yes. I may even have left-over fruit flies buzzing around inside my skull.
Is that gross?
Of course it is.
See how disgusting I am? I've been warning you, or trying to.
Thank God I'm listening to Ryan Adams. I'm hinging all bets on R.A., which in itself is an act of desperation. Right at this moment he's saying, "Jesus, don't touch my baby." It's kind of sexy how he's singing it.

…I haven't written anything of worth in several days. That's nothing to be proud of. If you're a writer and don't write, are you still a writer? If you're a lover and haven't heard your partener say those three words in a while, are there two people in love, or just one? I mean, how would you even know?

…Obviously I am full of questions this morning. But anyway, hey, how is your day going so far?

…"We know what we are, but not what we may be."-- William Shakespeare

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