—STOP ME IF YOU’VE HEARD THIS ONE 

 

Not Quite Finished

 

Sometimes I sit here, watching baseball or golf like any old man, and my son will come home from work, what they call teaching pre-school to young terrorists, and he’ll be exhausted, same as I was once, and he’ll kiss the crown of my head without asking permission, as if I’m a prince or king, a gorgeous gesture I never taught him, and he’ll ask how my day was, what I did, what new music I heard, and maybe he’ll genuinely care to hear my replies if he isn’t too beaten down by toddlers tumbling all over him or kids shitting their pants before noon, too early in the day for that, and I’ll say, It was good, son, Yeah it was, saying so with a little extra something if I wrote I poem I felt good enough about, and he’ll say, That’s good, Dad, and I’ll watch the pitch or swing on the screen before he comes back down later to the table where we’ll talk about what really happened today, the bombings and genocide in foreign lands and right here, the destruction of decency and the demolition of truth, and afterward, while I’m cleaning up the mess of plates and stuffing uneaten food down the scary gray mouth of the disposal, we’ll say, I love you, because it’s always the right thing to do, the knot on the bow so to speak, and then invariably, I’ll find another plate set aside, smeared with some disgusting sauce, or a dish with a meal on it that looks started but not quite finished, and I’ll swamp that one with fresh hot water from the sink spout and push whatever’s still clinging down the drain as well.  

 

—CAN YOU THINK IT LOUDER?

 

 

See-through

 

But you didn’t call me back is what I hear the man whisper into his cellphone at Gate 8, an anthill of people and commotion blurring around me, the thumbtack beginning its push, center of my forehead, neat as a surgeon’s needle, a migraine sprouting, here of all places, my left hand numb, sprockets in my vision, But you didn’t call me back and you said you would, the man repeats, his hands coned around the cell now as if he’s speaking prayers into it, and suddenly I’m thinking about Ms. Marshall, my ninth grade Chemistry teacher who I haven’t recalled in years, the way we taunted her, making fun of her masculine mix-and-match pantsuits, how she’d wear them in different colors but two days in a row, how the mocking progressed, clever kids that we were, becoming more insidious until there were dead rodents left inside her desk, her purse, a mangled cat in her mailbox after someone learned her address, until she stopped showing up at school, until there was dowdy Mrs. East instead, no fun at all, firm with detention, and later the rumors spread like STDs, that Ms. Marshall had hung herself in the garage, and for weeks afterward I imagined her swinging from a rope, wearing a beige pantsuit under a bare bulb because of what we’d done, because she had no one to call, or maybe she did but they didn’t pick up, and now the migraine is drilling like a motherfucker and the crackly speaker is announcing boarding rows but it’s all just dots, people and memories becoming diaphanous, like see-through dust or microscopic motes, too tiny to be real or meaningful, because nothing is real or meaningful, right, and so why should anyone ever call back, why should anyone even bother to ask in the first place? 

 

—WHAT IF I CRY EVERY SHOW AND IT’S “HEY, LOOK OUT BELOW”?

  

…It’s always easy when it’s easy.

 

…Who cares what I have failed to become?

 

…There’s a lot I used to have backwards.

 

…Maybe I still do.

 

…It’s really what the kids are writing that matters.

 

…“You’ve been with me forever.
      You know all my angels.

      How could I say no to you, 
      taking off your earrings to kiss me?”---Kaveh Akbar

… . A big part of living is matching what you do or say to what else is being done or said by others. The difficulty is in knowing where to draw the line.

 

…Looks empty over here.

 

….“Don’t think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.” Andy Warhol

 

…“You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” Somebody

 

…In college, my least favorite question to be asked by adults was, “So, what’s your major?” Because you knew the question that would follow after your answer, and you knew the others that would come, and they all felt like a firing squad, so much pressure to pick a good major, a practical one that would get you a decent job, which was why you were supposed to be in college to begin with, right?

And even though that four-year period was one of the most incredible times of my life, it was also stressful. Because there was looming adulthood. Like, not just driving to Moscow, ID every night, where the drinking age was 19. But real-life adult responsibility.

And then came “Interviews” senior year, a few months prior to graduation, where certain companies would get a jumpstart and arrive in droves on campus and you could sign up if you were ambitious or knew someone. 

I bombed every interview I was lucky enough to get, but I remember a specific time with a guy from Caterpillar (can you even imagine me thinking that was a good idea, a good fit?) where I thought, You know what? I’ve done terrible every interview I’ve planned and planned for, so I’m just going to go ahead and be honest this one. No rote answers. No prepared replies to the questions I’m anticipating.

And when the guy asked, “So, what would your ideal job be, your perfect career, like the one you that would make you happiest, the one you could do for the rest of your life without any regrets?” 

I said, “I’d be a writer.” 

I spat it out fast, almost like a person with Tourette’s, or a burp that slips out before you have the wherewithal to stifle the sound. 

In response, I remember he smiled and sort of looked over my head wistfully, almost if he and I were sharing the same blurry dream at that exact same moment. But then he lowered his eyes and asked me, “So, why don’t you become a writer?” 

 

…I got this yesterday:

Hi Len,

Royalties for THIS IS ME, BEING BRAVE

 1 x paperback sold via Amazon.com

= USD 0.31

 To be paid in June

…If I have a breakdown while I’m gone, will you still love me? 

I might, you know?

 

…I’d never listened to Pet Sounds all the way through but did on yesterday morning’s walk. With the exceptions of some juvenile lyrics here and there, it is the definition of a masterpiece. Especially if you listen with earbuds in.

 

…YOU APPEARED IN 82 SEARCHES. 

Okay, but why? 

 

…“Amidst the urgent eternal amidst, it is very good to be in love.” St. John of the Cross

 

…I often wish I was more practical, or pragmatic, but then maybe I wouldn’t dream so much, which might change me in irrevocable ways.

 

…I remember a lunch date with one of my best friends—and I actually forget the specifics, though I remember his words—where I said something like, “I’m not sure if I’d get anything out of that,” and he smirked and said, “So, Len, are you telling me you’re too old to learn new things?”

It’s funny the things you remember, the things you think about repeatedly, but that’s one of mine. And that one speck of a sentence (out of a long series of conversations) is the thing that’s motivated me to try to be better, to improve myself.

 

…“Sometimes things are important for the exact reasons you expect them to be. Other times, you’re wrong and the moon cracks in half while you’re staring at your shoes. Either way, it matters.” Penny and Sparrow

 

…If you’re lucky, you only get a few people in your life who are going to make yours better, so it’s best to hold them close and be sure to really mean it when you say, “Thanks.”

 

…Lately, I’ve been thinking about the past, how it wants to hold you back, no point in wasting time on those things that won’t be here tomorrow.

 

…“What about what I think?” I’m trying to remember that’s usually what the other person is thinking while I’m talking to them.

 

…Early morning message sent to my best friend the other day: 

"Anymore it feels like we're all just one hour away from the end of the world, so I'm trying to use all of my carnival tickets."

 

…If you haven’t seen this, it’s worth a watch (and you can stop after she’s done, about 6:30 minutes in.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJQS22Off2E

 

…“How about I be me, and you be you” Sinéad O'Connor

 

…On the phone with one of my best friends the other day, this was part of our conversation, which caused us both to laugh at the end…

Me: --    “I remember being in a workshop once when a woman said, ‘I have been really happy lately, so I haven’t been writing much. Do you ever notice how you can’t write when you’re happy?’ It was probably ten years ago when she said that, but I still remember it because I thought, Yeah, I totally get what she’s saying. I always have to be leaning a bit dark. or sad, to be able to write anything good.”

Her: --    “Well, that’s not a problem for me at all, because I’m never really happy.”

 

…I could really use a Snickers bar right now, one with real ingredients.

 

…It’s so strange to look out your window and see a huge boat parked right there with four capped people, all dressed in camo and holding fishing rods that look like rifles.

 

…After a while, as a parent, you learn that one kid leans into you for certain things, at certain times, while they lean into the other parent at different times, needing different things. 

And there are reasons or stories for that, and you can drive yourself a little crazy trying to figure out the “why” of it all, but at some point you just become glad they reached out, that they still trust you enough to want to.

 

…Looking for mystery where there is none is a waste of time, unless you let yourself discover what else is there.  

 

…It takes a lot of bravery to hold onto the silence in a conversation, even when you’re bare-knuckled.

 

...Bedtime’s getting earlier, but so is dawn.

 

…I can be a Rube Goldberg machine, I can overcomplicate a thing…

 

…Maybe the antidote is right here.

 

…I’m a fan of skinny, yet sometimes I see old photos of myself and I think—there’s thin, and then there’s just bones.  

 

…I’m not very tough anymore, if I ever was to begin with.

 

…Do you ever get to the end of something and then wonder, What was the point of that? Only to remember the point later on, and then think, Oh, yeah, that was it.

 

…Monday, Monday...Monday brings the blues. I put on my shirt and tie..

 

…I know the voices aren’t real, but man do they come up with some great ideas.

 

…“No need to hurry, no need to sparkle, no need to be anybody but one’s self.” Virginia Woolf

 

…If someone was really angry and needed to take it out on a person and beat someone up, I’d be their perfect guy.

 

…All it’s gonna take is all your patience, I can be a lot, ha!

 

…Next time I’ll be better prepared.

 —NOW I WALK AROUND BACKWARD

  

Help

 

It helps if you have cocaine. 

It helps if it’s an old story, but not one about the sad moon, or a drunk dad who does the same unspeakable things all inebriated fathers do. 

It helps if it’s storming outside, hail ricocheting off the roof, same as that perpetual haunt pushing up beneath your skin, like a trapped beetle, needling you again to say something you can’t, and never do. 

It helps if your therapist nods off while you’re sharing about the six-month period your parents became nudists, their saggy bits barely covered in pubic hair that resembled month’s old alfalfa sprouts.

It helps if you haven’t eaten since Tuesday.

It helps if your heart is shattered and you feel guilty that it isn’t your fault this time either. 

It helps to sink into a frigid bath of pity and self-loathing, gasping Fuck quietly in a shaky voice no one will ever hear. 

It helps to have a broken mirror nearby, one with the backing cardboard showing through, lightning-shaped shards glinting in the sink like so many sins. 

It helps, too, if your soulmate dog died recently, twenty minutes after you rush her to the emergency vet, where you forget her collar and they call you five days later to say so. 

It helps, too, if you’ve stopped seeing colors and it helps if you don’t put that razor to your wrist, because you have thighs after all, and there’s a thumbtack for that. 

It helps, they say, if you have a pen or a keyboard handy, though no one’s ever going to understand anything you’ve written anyway, how could they? But it helps.

—LEAVE A LIGHT ON FOR YOURSELF

 

1841

 

He would call me after a sparrow flew into the window, though he never knew about the dead birds, how could he, drunk as he always he was, his voice slurpy-sounding as if he was sipping on some kind of stone soup, and I’d be at work when he’d call so they’d have to page me through the store’s speakers, using the special code I’d given them, Len Kuntz 1841, sometimes it was for Mariners tickets, sometimes to tell me what a shit brother I’d become for living in a stucco mansion like a rich prick, but he could also be inventive, even fucked up by noon, like once my brother claimed he’d killed a guy and laughed about it, though as I said, he was a perpetual and spectacular drunk, a 13 year-old kid when he ran away, ten years older than me, so I never knew him until these calls started, and then before he died, I learned things I didn’t want to know about him, though his son needed to tell someone, so I listened and nodded and said I’m sorry because I meant it, although what I wanted to say was I’m disgusted, and then a few days later at the burial site while the pastor expressed false gibberish, I looked over my nephew’s shoulder into the guts of some nearby trees expecting to see dead sparrows hanging from their limbs, but instead it was two crows, black as migraine spots, and these birds they were just dawdling, shooting the shit you might say, or maybe they were mere strangers, with nothing else to do, just getting to know each other, stooped there on that crooked branch, on that humid August afternoon as we buried my brother.

—MAYBE THERE’S A BETTER WAY TO SAY THINGS, BUT I HAVEN’T FIGURE THAT OUT YET 

 

 

… "You plod along and you find the humor, and you say thank you for the trees, thank you for life. Life is a miracle." Beatrice Stieber, 102-years old

 

…Worrying less is a good start. But how do you get there?

 

…I’ve been learning to get out my own way more, and so far, it’s working out fairly well.

 

…Isn’t it crazy the things you can’t remember anymore?

 

…“Dance when you’re broken open.

       Dance if you’ve torn the bandage off.

    Dance in the middle of the fighting.

        Dance in your blood.

       Dance when you’re perfectly free.”

        --Rumi

 

…It’s incredulous to me that the people who have the greatest ability to do something about the narcissistic buffoon in The White House just sit there, nod, grin, and do nothing. Is there really nothing left of your moral being? Is your spouse proud of you? Your kids? What does the mirror really tell you when you look into it hoping to see who you are?

 

…I don’t always get there, but with certain people I try, I always try to look them straight in the eye.

 

…You’re just supposed to do the best you can, but honestly, do any of us really do that?

 

…What is it about the feeling you get when you check off things on your to-do list that makes you feel hopeful?

 

…It’s really hard to hide when you don’t know who you’re hiding from.

 

…What a feeling it is—another person believing in you.

 

…The nice thing about being silent is you can’t be misquoted.

 

…When the stakes are high, the right answer always feels like it’s the wrong one.

 

…I don’t really believe in karma, but I’ve always liked to believe that the kindness you show others finds a way back to you in some form or other. And well, if it doesn’t, so what?

 

…The problem with motivation is it’s hardly ever there when you need it most.  

 

…“I’m attracted to intelligence and creativity and passion – and not necessarily the romantic kind. I want to learn from someone who is greedy for information and light and laughter and the whole world. Someone who celebrates their days and finds inspiration in what other people accomplish.” Renee Zellweger

 

…The average person has 70,000 thoughts a day.

 

…For me, one of the great joys is discovering a new poet whose voice and style I can connect with. It’s a little bit like falling in love with a pen pal you’ll never meet. 

 

…Austria had its second mass shooting the other day, a horrific event. That’s two mass shooting for them in the last 22 years, compared with 109 in the US during the same time period. 

 

…The things that scratch your brain are usually the ones to give ample attention to.

 

…I often remember this woman (a legend at the company I worked for) who once admonished my excitement by saying, “Len, if it sounds too good be true, that’s because it is.”

 

…The only thing better than hearing a bunch of Italian youngsters talking is hearing them giggle.

 

…I hope they’re not bluffing when they say, It’s never too late.

 

…Killing your inner critic always helps.

 

…“People’s behavior tells you exactly where you stand in their life. You need to understand: This is very black and white. You are either a priority or you are not. There is no middle ground.” Mel Robbins

 

…I haven’t seen Bud (the beaver) in quite some time, even though I’ve often been up about when he swims the lake in the morning. I always wonder—Did I just miss him? Did he just do the whole lake underwater? Or has something bad happened? 

 

…It seems unbelievable, but it’s true: Every year 2,000 new marine species are discovered.

 

…“And if I’d been looking for good apples in a bad year for apples, I’d have missed it.” Greg Kosmicki

 

…I keep thinking, I’m getting there. I’m getting there. I’m almost there. But am I really?

 

…NYC again topped a list of the wealthiest cities in the world with 384,500 millionaires, 818 centimillionaires and 66 billionaires. San Fran came in second with 342,400 millionaires.

Make of it what you will.

 

…“We didn’t want this show to be a show which has answers. We wanted this to be a giant question mark, which said, ‘We’ve got a problem here.’” Stephen Graham, writer of Adolescence

 

…Even if they’re a total jerk and a complete asshole, if they really, truly love art, I’ll listen to what they have to say.

 

…Even when it’s 90 out there, it can get really cold in here.

 

…Most times, “Thank you,” never seems sufficient, but if it’s delivered in a quiet way, I always feel it differently.

 

…I’m not sure what it means to be a poet laureate (though I do like that it’s never capitalized). Maybe I’ll just proclaim myself the poet laureate of Flowing Lake and see what the fishes think about that.

 

…“Someone is always going to be disappointed by the decisions you make. Don’t ever let it be you that’s disappointed.” Mel Robbins

 

…What kind of arrogant, name-calling, egotistical toddler does this?

Meanwhile, Trump attacked Newsom on Truth Social and other platforms. “The very incompetent ‘Governor,’ Gavin Newscum, and ‘Mayor,’ Karen Bass, should be saying, ‘THANK YOU, PRESIDENT TRUMP, YOU ARE SO WONDERFUL. WE WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT YOU, SIR,’” Trump wrote Monday in a Truth Social post that has received 53,000 likes.

 

…A little vulnerability can go a long way.

 

…I used to think jetlag was a hoax, but then again, I used to think a lot of things that I don’t think anymore.

 

…I’ve always thought that the best teachers are those who don’t just tell you what to do, but they show you how to do it.

 

…“Life needed these moments where you felt the split of who you were and who you became. Without those moments, what was your life? Just an unbroken line that went from birth to death.” Kevin Wilson, Run for The Hills

 

…“Time needs another minute at least/Take your time, but you’ve got a limit.” Sly Stone

 

…You can say whatever you want about Joe Biden, but would he ever post something like this?

"They stole the 2020 election and hijacked the country using a decrepit corpse as a frontman."

 

…And isn’t it funny how there was absolutely no election fraud whatsoever this last time around? I mean, since you-know-who won?

 

…Turns out the meaning of life is not even three minutes long, and it’s right here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAaMJ4mjG9I

 

…According to a U of Kansas study, to become a casual friend, you have to spend 74 hours with someone. To become a close friend, you have to spend over 200 hours with them.

 

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader. Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.” Robert Frost

 

…I was the only person in my family to ever get cold sores. From a young age, I got them, sometimes really bad ones. And I’d get nosebleeds as well when no one else did. I wonder what that means.

 

….“Hate is a strong word, but I really, really don’t like you.” Plain White Tees

 

…When pastors stop talking about Jesus and start talking about politics, it’s all over for me.

 

…God knows I’ve got my problems.

 

…Brian Wilson’s death struck me surprisingly hard. He was very troubled, obviously, and if you’re to be honest, The Beach Boys’ songs had great hooks, but their early lyrics were pretty juvenile and lame, not unlike one of my favorite bands of all time, The Brothers Gibb. But “In My Room” and “God Only Knows” and “Caroline, No,” those were brilliant through and through.

 

…I remember once introducing my Admin to Tony Orlando and Dawn and her coming in to share her reaction, which was, “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” My daughter said the exact same thing when I shared Air Supply with her.

 

…Right now, near dusk, the different guys on their boats out on the lake are gray silhouettes. The look like something Donatello would have sculpted, or Carver would have written about.

 

“I’m not an activist or an advocate, or a spokesperson or someone on some mission. I like being free to have a point of view. I guess I do have a truth. I have a point of view, but I try not to have an agenda. Again and again and again, I find that if I show up and sit with people and am willing to accept what they offer with an open mind and heart, then people will tell me rather extraordinary things about themselves and the world that they live in. I’m not a reporter—and that’s a luxury.” Anthony Bourdain

 

…I guess men are supposed be really good at grilling. They’re also not supposed to wear pink, but I wore my jacket yesterday nonetheless.

 

…I know not everyone had a John in their life, and I don’t take it lightly that I did.

 

…Most days it’s hard to imagine dying.

 

…Today, though, right this second, it’s good to be alive.  

—LET’S PRETEND IT’S NOT THE END OF THE WORLD

 

MAGA and the Unbeliever

  

He’s old enough to know better 

almost 88 in September 

but still wears that red cap 

to the hardware store Kroger Costco 

church where Jesus who embodied 

love is the star attraction 

a worthy mentor for anybody 

believer or not and because 

he’s up there in years he 

gets rightful respect he gets 

a pass for things like donning 

his shrieking siren cap

and though he’s almost blood of mine 

I hold him at our door nonetheless

say take it off please or leave 

the first time I’ve ever asked 

my father in-law for anything 

the first time I ever picked Jesus over him 

and knew with certainty

which one to believe in

 

—I WROTE A LETTER TO THE KID ON THE SUN

 

The Missing Boy

 

She fell in love with the missing boy. Found a faded poster clinging to a pole by its last rusted staple. He’d be about her age now, 14, she figured. And though he’d been gone half her lifetime, the boy bloomed at once in maturity before her eyes. He looked like no one she’d ever met or seen, sure not her brothers who forced her to keep their dark secrets. Couldn’t love be a secret, too, she wondered, a good one? And so she tucked the flyer inside her sock, happy to feel it brushing up her ankle when she walked, though halfway down the road to her house, she went left instead, and decided to skip.

 

—SORRY, NOT SORRY

 

 

…I always think I’m the one who listens most and talks less, but maybe I’m all wrong about that.

 

…It must be nice to one day just decide you’re no longer afraid of heights and then, just like that, you’re not anymore.

 

…Do you ever talk to yourself? Like, out loud? I never used to, but I sure do now. I even talk back to myself.

 

....Did you lose yourself, or your self-esteem?

 

…“There are two moments worthwhile in writing, the one when you start and the other when you throw it in the waste-paper basket.” Samuel Beckett

 

…That could be the story of my life.

 

…Giraffes, deer and squirrels are my favorite three animals. I’ve told a few people that, but none have ever asked me, Why? Until the other day. And that caught my attention.  

 

…Wind puppets are another thing that makes me happy whenever I see them.

 

…I’m probably the only one alive who has never seen a falling star.

 

…But fireflies, I’ve seen some of those.

 

…I just can’t. I can’t get my head around how anyone other than a vapid soulless person can support him. (I know, I know. I keep bringing him up, but I don’t want to. I really don’t, yet it’s inescapable, even when you try so hard to avoid it.) So, is it okay to call everyone in a past administration “scum”? Is that what a Christian would do? Is that the kind of President we want? Do we want to raise our children to call others they don’t like, or even detest, “scum”? Would the country and world be better if we all went around calling others “scum”? If you can listen and watch this insane lunatic day-to-day and be happy with his conduct, or even anywhere close to satisfied with it, then I hope I never meet you.

And “scum” is just a sliver.

 

…What I’ve realized is that when friends share something, I automatically compare what they’ve said to anything similar I might have experienced myself. And then I have to check myself, because that’s not why they shared it—to hear your personal history on the subject. In that moment, it’s theirs alone, so let them have it.  

 

…In my other diary, all I ever write about is the weather. 

 

…The other day my son asked me, “Do you know anyone without vices, or like without even one?” And I said, “Too many.”

 

…“A gentleman is someone who can play the accordion, but doesn’t.” Tom Waits

 

…In the film, “What Women Want” Mel Gibson’s character miraculously becomes gifted with the ability to read/hear the thoughts of every woman he encounters. I always thought I’d want that, to know what people really thought about me. But I wouldn’t want to know that now.    

 

…I always get a little nervous, and suspicious when someone begins a sentence with, “Can I ask you something?”  

 

…Kim Chinquee is a writer I’ve admired for a long time and I once actually posted an interview on here that I’d done with her. When I asked her (probably the worst question you can ask a writer) “Why do you write?” she answered, “Why does one do anything at all?” I think about her response quite often, and I wonder, Yeah, why?

 

…I don’t mean this as Woe is me, but my parents never taught us any nursery rhymes growing up. The first time someone referenced one, they didn’t believe I had no idea what they were talking about. Now, when anyone quotes a nursery rhyme, a writer or a person on TV, I pay really close attention.

 

…I'm grateful that we can now use the words therapy or meds as if they’re the same as gym class or aspirin. It didn’t always used to be that way.

 

…What drinking did for me was to make me braver than I am or ever will be. I think that’s why I always miss it so much.

 

…I can usually tell, within five minutes, if I’m going to like a show, if I’m going to be able to sit with it for a long time, get immersive and appreciate the acting and storytelling and not feel as if I’m witnessing a story that’s acted out badly, with poor writing and direction.

It’s typically the same way with me and strangers. If I meet a person for the first time, I can usually tell within five minutes if I’m going to like them, but more important still, if I’m going to trust them.

Sometimes, though, I’m wrong. And I’m always glad I am when that happens.

 

…Would you rather be surprised about getting a random gift, or get a heads-up that it’s coming?

 

…Were you a kid who woke up early and shook their present under the tree, trying to judge the jostle inside, the heft and noise of it? Did you ever carefully peel back the tape, just enough so you could see the box label, then slyly tamp down that stub of tape and the ripped edge of wrapping? If you were, good for you.

 

…The Five Love Languages is a book I read reluctantly, but it changed my life in a lot of ways. It changed the way I think about love.

 

…I love animals, but I hate zoos. Which is stupid, because every person who works at a zoo is probably an incredible person, underpaid by a lot, I’m guessing, who only works there because they love animals more than the rest of us. But still—the cages, the bars…

 

…Speaking of…Long story, but I’ll try to be brief. My brother and I caught a Blue-tailed-racer once and kept it in a Folgers can with airholes punched through the plastic stopper-top. Blue-tailed racers are beautiful snakes, colorful, slippery and slithering though hard to catch. We had a number of them out in our backyard, around summertime, just up the path behind our trailer.

So my brother and I caught one, named it and kept it, and our dad said, “You boys don’t know what you’re getting into.” It sounded ominous, but we were kids, punks really, so we just thought, Fuck off old man.

But then the snake got loose and dad found it dangling from one of those beet-colored, rusted pipes in the belly of our makeshift trailer where dad would have a work station of sorts, to tool leather belts (many, which he’d use on us), and so he took us outside and did just that, bare-bottomed in the glaring sun, both of us, my brother and I. But you know what? We laughed the whole time. Really. We laughed and kept laughing while it was happening because Louie (that was the snake’s name. I remember now) had gotten free. And we weren’t jealous he'd escaped. We were so happy, it was one of the happiest days of my childhood.

 

…“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.” James Baldwin

 

…Lifting weights is the epitome of vanity, is it not? But, so what? It feels good to look a little better than you did before.

 

…I see Pete all the time (and I’m grateful), but I haven’t seen Bud in months. That’s a little unsettling, especially since most times I’m up before dawn when he would usually by swimming westward across the lake. 

 

…It’s not a test, but sometimes it feels like it is.

 

…Sleep is exhausting.

 

…Sometimes all you have to do is say, “Hey,” and that’s enough. 

 

…“Travel is the medicine that fights racism.” Pavlov

 

…You may not believe in Jesus, but you sure as hell had better believe in Satan. Just turn on the news.

 

…Who needs “existential threats” when the real ones are right here?

 

…I rarely use exclamation marks in any form of writing. Maybe it’s the Show-Don’t-Tell drilled into me. Or maybe I just want it to be special to the person I do write it to, instead of it being another overused platitude or symbol.

 

…Working your way back is always the tricky part. 

 

…I hate whenever I use clichés, but well, you know sometimes…

 

…One of my biggest fears is driving on these country roads here late at night and hitting a deer. Not sure how I’d ever get over that. 

 

…“James Joyce: His writing is not about something. It is the thing itself.” – Samuel Beckett

 

… The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

--Elizabeth Bishop