How come when it comes to saying the really hard stuff I get
totally mealy-mouth and can’t type or say a thing?
What kind of coward am I?
boast and brag about being a truth teller, about not being scared of much,
about being fearless mostly, and about how important the truth is—at least
knowing your own truths. How is it that I have no trouble being an asshole or
being opinionated or speaking my mind. Then, fast-forward to me, crippled by
the truth—totally paralyzed to write or speak the story, to hear the song, to
dig in and say what’s it is.
good is that the stakes are high and I have a shitty poker face.
God, November is hard to swallow this year. The sadness
floods in like a tsunami, a barrage of waves smashing grief, anger, longing, in a
relentless call and response. It’s hard to stand; harder to sit. And then, there is the
bitterest taste in my mouth, not just a metaphor…it’s sour like after eating
too much candy. Maybe that’s it—too much Halloween candy, I’m all bitter in the
mouth. Bitter and soaking wet with disappointment. Here comes the end of the
year. Watch out for regret slipping into this wintery mix; slippery motherfucker that regret is…what
have you accomplished this year? How about those New Year’s resolutions? You
fucking loser. When will you ever
Rattle, leaves, rattle. Shake in the wind. The wind trying
gently then with more vigor to shake those last little palms of hope and life
loose, leaving only skeletal pointy shards of the blackest bark behind. And the snow will
come…you can bet on it. More death. More cold. More isolation. Ice.