Almost made it to 200.

196 Posts in this blog, and life is so very different from the way it was before.

Time for a new chapter in my life.

So follow me here.

With A Head Like A Wolf

File under The End.

My Church, My Church...

It is hard to write these thoughts without them being taken wrong.

I don't know how to put them together so that they don't sound accusatory.  I'm not pointing a finger.  It isn't what I do.  I know what that feels like.  I know the shame of going in front of a judge and admitting that you hit the woman that you had sworn to love and honor for the rest of your life.  I know the shame of getting into the back of a police car while your children are watching.  I have coveted my neighbor's wife, I have taken the Lord's name in vain, I have pulled off One through Ten over and over and over again.  If not in deed, than in thought and in word.  All of which is condemned by The Great Forgiver.

So I don't point fingers anymore.

Because when I do.  I know I'm just pointing at myself.

I don't accuse anymore, because when the tally chart is thrown up on the wall.  Sin for sin.  I'm winning.  I'm not ahead by a nose, I'm ahead by a mile.

-

She walked in my door and changed my life.

The way we start isn't always the way we should start.  And the way we love isn't always the way we should love.  The way we fell into each others arms.  It's on my tally sheet.  And the way I stole her from another man, also on the fucking tally sheet.

I'm not proud.

I'm not obligated to confess guilt to anyone.

It is a dichotomy. 

A friend called.  A true friend.  And he presented hard words to me.  Told me things that I know, and that I wrestle with.  And he did it out of love.  He told me he hated how it made him feel, and that he was disheartened and hurt, and sad.  And that he had gone to the other man to tell him, that from his perspective, what I did was wrong, and that he felt as though I had done a poor job of representing Christ and The Church.

I agree with him.

And I respect him for calling me, and for going out of his way to reach out to someone that despises and rejects faith in anything.  Because that is our job.  We step into this faith with the understanding that we are supposed to "go and make disciples of all nations."  It is on the back of the Billy Graham deceleration of faith hand out that I signed all through middle and high school.  Those words were crowded into my head every time I dedicated, re-dedicated, and re-re-dedicated myself to the Lord.  In every head bowed and eye shut room, so that no one would feel any pressure, yes Lord there is one, so that no one would feel any fear, yes Lord I see that hand, so that no one would be embarrassed, praise God there is another.  Because even while we are supposed to be shouting our joy from a mountaintop, we were ashamed.

The faith I was taught, was one of passivity.

One that had a lot more to do with taking the moral high ground in your mind, but still acting like an asshole to people. 

It was about going to church with your family, but pretending like you didn't.  You didn't want your friends to know that you were a Christian, you wanted to hide that light so far under every bush, barrel and blanket you could find, while attempting to not let Satan puff it out.  For two reasons.

First no one wanted to be on the same team as Tipper Gore and Bob Larson.  Standing in a bully pulpit telling the world that everything that is fun is evil.

Second it is so easy to justify the things you do, or don't do, if you can be ambiguous about your faith.  Oh I don't drink, I'm a Christian.  Oh its ok for us to fool around on the couch I don't really believe in that God stuff.  It was a switch that could be turned on and off.  You know the one that God is going to vomit from his mouth.  Mark that one up on my tally sheet too.

I spent a lot of years like that.  And when I decided that I was done with it.  I prayed one prayer.

"God if its your will take everything.  Because this isn't how it was supposed to be."

-

He did.

-

I tried to live wrong first.

This fucking thing is a chronicle to that.

I tried to live right.

Also a chronicle.

That is the point of this place.  Sure a lot of the time it is just some rambling and some mental exercising, but when it comes down to it.  This is where I put my thoughts.  My struggles.  And when I started it, I said that I would just say how I felt.  And I will. 

I went through a divorce, and struggled with money, and with work, and with drinking, and with the courts.  I still owe money all over the place, I spent three months incarcerated, I got hands up, and hand outs, and I got beat up by the world pretty bad.  And while I went through it there were very few people that were willing to stand next to me.  There were very few people that didn't make me feel shame just by the way that they looked at me.  There were very few people that treated me like I was worth more than shit on the heel of their shoes. 

There were friendships that disappeared.  There were ones that I questioned ever even existed.  I get that I committed sin.  And that sin deserves rebuking and correction, and some kind of guidance in the right direction.  And I got that, some.  And there was pain there, grief over a lost family, and over lost self-respect.  Self-loathing, and hatred for everything I had become, because what I wanted to be seemed to be falling apart.  I needed comfort.  And I got that, some.

But mostly I got stony silence.

Indifference.

I was told in catechism, Luther's small one.  That there are sins of commission, the shit you do, and omission, the things that you left undone.  I understand how it feels to be on the receiving end of that now.

I don't ever want to feel like that again.

I don't ever want anyone else to feel like I did that to them again.

-

I don't accuse here, I just relate.

What is done is done.  The past is that.  It is something to learn from and move forward from.

-

Maybe this lesson is never fully learned.

Or maybe it is just that I commit some of the big sins while the rest of the world is just cheating on their taxes and shit.  I don't know.  But I caused that pain to someone,  several someone's since I was made to feel that way.  But imperfect vessel that I am.  I try not to back down from what I feel is the only thing that sustains.  This faith in God.

No church looks at this bundle of damaged goods and says, "Dang mister, join up now."  But my God does.

And so does my congregation.  Those "And I got that, some's."  A Pastor, A Brother, A Woman, A Fellow Traveler, A Group of Children.  Titles, characters in this grand story, my life.  People that are my church.  People that may not love the decisions I make, but that love me.  My church.

A church made of other tattered, and ragged, weary and beaten humans.

People that make the same mistakes over and over, because the are human, and flawed, and live in an over privileged society, just like me.

-

"You deserve better, You are a daughter of a King."

She was told about me.

I am a son of that same King.

Washed in that same blood, forgiven of those same sins, doomed to sin in those same ways.  Can you do better than the son of a King who accepts all as His own?  Can you do better than to find the love of that King in another's eyes and never look back?

I'm sorry if we didn't do it your way.  Truly.

But we did.  And now we chose to move forward.  To live, to love, to serve one another, and all that we can.  And it may look like "too soon" for some, I fear that we cannot wait.  We cannot afford to sit on our hands.  Because in spite of our sin, He still works in us.  In spite of our shame, He still calls our name.  He still whispers, "Feed them, clothe them, visit them, let them stay, I'm in the least, and I work through the least.  And trust me you are the least.  And I give you another commandment, love one another as I have loved you.  Because that is how they will know you are Mine, that you love one another."

He even washed Judas' feet.

File under Virtue I guess.

Tonight.

It is late, and I know that I should be asleep. 

I went to bed late last night and it made me shit at work today.

But I can't seem to lay down.  There is just something about this night.  This moment that is almost magic.

I remember sitting in front of this same screen not so long ago.  Struggling to sleep.  Lashing out at myself with drink and smoke, and vice.  Throwing myself into the deepest pit that I could.  Finding the darkness, seeking it out, running into its waiting arms before it had a chance to swallow me whole unbidden.  It wasn't so long ago that was me.

Swallowing my sleep.  Lusting after the darkness.  Wondering how much longer I could keep my mind.

How much has changed. 

Tonight...

Tonight doesn't seem dark.  The night doesn't seem to be pulling at the corners of my eyes trying to suck me down.  Suck me in.  Tonight I'm right here, and like always I'm telling the only words that I know.  I'm putting my heart down again.  But I don't feel that desperate pull.  That darkness seems to have lifted for now.

Tonight she is right there on the couch, having fallen asleep watching TV. 

Tonight we just sat, and talked and relaxed.

Tonight we were just us.

No walking away, no alone, no end of the night. 

Just sleep, and for me music.

Soft music, that I will play for a new child.  Headphones on her stomach, so that this child will hear the beauty of John Cash, and Joe Strummer.  So that the child will know before birth, the love we have.  And a state away are my other three, and soon they will be here too.  And I will smother them with joy and love.

Life gets better.

God is good.

File under Virtue.

Autumn.

Two Autumns now.

And it all seems so long ago.

Two Autumns ago I was sitting down in front of this blank screen for the first time. Thinking to myself, "I'm done with playing a part. I'm done with trying to be someone that everyone else wants me to be. It was an interesting time that was.

My marriage had failed, my job was about to be lost, I didn't know it at the time, but I was about to do some time.

My life went from being stable to unstable very quickly. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't really know who I was anymore. All of the roles that I had played just kind of disappeared. And in a moment I realized that allowing them to fall by the wayside is exactly what I not only wanted but what I needed. I had never taken the time to be myself. I had never taken the time to really learn who that was. And now, two Autumn's later, I see a little better who that is.

I see a little better that the shadows aren't where I need to be.

From now on this will be a different place.

This started out as a place to hide my face, and still say how I feel. I don't think I need that anymore. It is still a safe place, and a place to be honest with what I feel, and how I write, but there is a change in the air. Two Autumns is a long time to wait for the leaves to fall.

-

The sun is setting and the corona of sunlight over the apartment complex is something that is stunning in its beauty. I can hear the kids in the courtyard playing soccer, and the soundtrack of the evening is Devotchka. There is that burning wood, dry leaves scent in the air. That October smell.

The house smells like food. And I'm working on getting dinner put together when she walks in the door. Her name is Mel, and I love her. When she comes in the door, she always reaches for an embrace. She always asks for a kiss. She never turns a cold shoulder to me. With her life is different. With her there is this simple happiness in just being with someone that chooses to be kind to me. Not sometimes, but all the time. The simple joy of being with someone that understands that to receive kindness you must be kind.

I wrap my arms around her from behind. My hands on her belly, there is a child in there. A new life, what seems like a totally new world to me. A world where I have nothing but hope, and the conviction that I will have a partner, that I have a team mate.

There were three before this child. Three wonderful kids that I love more than life itself. That I don't get to see as much as I want that I desperately miss. And I can't wait to tell them. I can't imagine that they will be anything besides happy. I can't wait to hear them squeal and hug and kiss Mel. I can hear Baleigh telling her congratulations, and I can see in my mind's eye her hugging Mel and patting her on the tummy. I hope that is how they react, I think that they will. They seem to truly love Mel too, they see that she is good for their father and that she makes me happy.

-

Dinner tonight isn't just for the two of us. David is on his way.

He is one of my best friends, and I haven't seen him in months. He comes up from New Mexico about once a month, and for whatever reason, we just haven't been able to make things work the last few times he was up. And though I've already told him that Mel is pregnant, I want to see him, talk to him about it. Over food and wine, and eventually Sailor.

Just like the week before when I got to talk to Steve about it. To get the, "Man sometimes you are an idiot," speech and then to laugh and be with a friend, and just spend time with the people that I care about.

These two men that were by my side as my life fell apart, that gave me moral support, and a place to live. That treated me like a human, during a time when I didn't really feel like one. The ones that treated me like a church should.

And now I get to be more like a person, I'm not shifting from place to place, from horror to horror. I'm no longer moving up a river looking for my Kurtz. I'm home now, and that is all behind me. There are still struggles, and there are still moments when I fear that it will all fall apart, but the face that I'm putting out there for people to see is no longer a mask. It is who I am, it is how I feel.

And there is Dave in the dining room, sitting with us, eating, and happy for the both of us. And we drink, and talk and laugh, and my life feels like a life instead of a sham.

And when we talk about God, it is in the way that I understand. It isn't this abstract model of a god that has been developed over generations of theology. It is just people talking, and thinking about their faith, and starting to truly understand what it means to trust God wholly. A time of true fellowship.

When Mel makes Dave a lunch for the road he says, "You are like a Christian, but in the way it was meant to be, not the way it has become." A sentiment that I shared with her in respect to her project of feeding the homeless in Denver. It just feels good to be with someone that understands that we are here to give, not take.

And these times with friends, are ones that the other woman never allowed.

That other foot always dropping. Spending an evening with Steve and within two hours she would be calling on the phone to ask when I was coming home. An emergency every time. She needed this, she needed that. And not just when I was with my friends. When I was at work, when I was trying to write. Every moment it seemed that I was required to refocus on her.

Mel kisses me goodnight at 10pm, Dave and I laughing like braying jackasses at a comedian. She goes to the bedroom to read. And in the morning she tells me. That she just wanted to give me a chance to have time with a friend. It is a new world. A new life, and it is the one that I was always looking for.

-


Two Autumns now.

And another winter on the way. Mel is always telling me that she suffers from serious depression during the winter. And having had friends, and relations that suffer from the same thing I understand what she is talking about.

I'm looking forward to it in a way.

She has poured so much kindness, gentleness and love my direction that I am truly excited to return the favor.

I want to look out a window at falling snow. Make her hot chocolate and wrap up under a blanket.

I want her to know that in dark times she is loved.

I want to hold her close when it is cold.

Everyday is a new day, a new adventure, a new memory. For the first time in a long time I get to look forward to today, and worry less and less about tomorrow. Today is a day to not hide my face anymore, because today is another day living with someone who sees me, and loves me for that. It isn't always hearts and flowers, but it is honest and real, and that in and of itself is a new adventure every day.

It is Autumn now, but soon it will be winter.

And this will be like no winter before it.

File under Virtue.

Food and Punk

"Heard GBH made my decision.
Punk Rock is my religion."

-Rancid

I saw the knife sink into my knuckle before I saw the blood.

Putting the bread knife into my knife roll, I slid the top of my finger right down the edge of the fillet knife and nearly sliced the top knuckle of my middle finger off. There was a lot of blood. And since I still had work to do a patch work job of bandaging happened that had more to do with masking tape and paper towels than medicine.

People kept seeing the blood and the cut and asking me if I was ok.

It didn't hurt, fuck a few hours later and it still doesn't. This isn't the first time that I have cut myself, and unfortunately it probably won't be my last.

This has become my life. Not cutting myself, but this life of kitchens, and food service, and the like. I will burn myself, and I will cut myself, and I will be able (with the help of two other cooks) cook for 400 people in about six hours. This is a life I love, and it is a life that I never should have left in the first place, and now with Me. by my side, and a world that is a little more stable, I realize that things don't always need to be as hectic as I thought they needed to be.

But more than anything I realize that my life for a very long time has revolved around food. I find myself watching TV about food, reading books about food, thinking about what I'm going to cook at work, and what I'm going to cook at home. I live a life about food. Sure there are other things going on in my life. The is a relationship (with my lady and my kids), a band, reading, writing, all that other stuff that happens during life. But a big focus for me in my life is food. And tonight, was about food too. In a different way.

-

We were on our way to see The Business.

Walking down Broadway towards the Larimer Lounge.

And as we walk we pass Triangle Park right across the street from the Denver Rescue Mission. This place where the homeless congregate in, and looking at Me. I made the passing comment, "Look baby, the Army of the Homeless." It was a joke that me and a couple other of my totally unfeeling friends made one time, and I felt that it was pretty funny this time. Because I'm an asshole, and don't think in terms of people's pain all the time.

But Me. she sees the world a lot differently than I do.

She didn't see people that are to cracked out, or drunk to keep jobs, and thereby a roof over their head. She saw people. People in need. And it broke her heart. She new then and there that she had to do something. There was the kind of pull in her heart that I have only really understood a few times in my life, and that pull could easily be termed, "a calling."

I personally think this kind of experience happens to people all the time. That tugging at your heart telling you that you should be doing something. I just think that we have all been conditioned to ignore it as much as possible. Because that tugging is always telling us something like, "Quit your office job and go back to cooking," or, "You should just live your life simply, money doesn't matter," or, "Life is good just the way it is for you, but what about that homeless guy over there, you should go help him."

Maybe those voices are just my version of a mid-life crisis (which I'm old enough to have I just realized). But from those voices come some pretty incredible things. Walking away from a life where I could afford things, to a life where things were small, and I was poor, somehow made it so I was more content with my life.

Sure there were moments where I felt like a total piece of shit, but honestly there were a lot less of them once I gave up on living "The American Dream" or a good job, and lots of money, and the like.

Well Me. was listening to the call instead of The American Dream that night.

-

sM. gets a lot of my respect for doing the same thing.

His project was short lived because his ex-wife got in some legal trouble and he had to rush back to his daughter's side and be full time dad, which I also respect a ton.

But for one day at least he chose to be homeless, to live on the charity of others, because he was going to live and be with them. It was a beautiful idea. To walk away from everything. Not just from a job, and from a steady paycheck, but from food and shelter, and simple basic things.

This is where this post gets a little preachy.

He went to churches and told them what he was doing. Asked for prayer. Explained that he was looking to help the people that were left alone on the streets from the inside out. That he was wanting to go to them, instead of asking them to come to us.

He got some prayers, and a couple pats on the back, a good job, and then it was gone. No one wanted to maybe feed him, or give him a roof for the night.

The silence from that sector said a lot.

-

Me. started to reach out to people about helping get some food to the homeless in Triangle Park.

She had decided that it would be great to hand out sandwiches to them, maybe with a juice box, and some snack stuff. Not much, but at the very least a meal for some people that may or may not have something to eat. There were some people that wanted to help, and I was one of them. But I have to admit that I had very little desire to help, largely because she was asking other people to help do it.

I had spent to many years in ministry asking people for help, and being rebuffed. I had learned that there is really only one way to get something done. On your own.

I have stopped asking people to help with projects like this, because everyone has a reason not to. They don't have the money, they don't have the time, they don't have the desire. And I'm not ever going to force someone to do something. So why even ask.

But when she posted it on Facebook I decided to share it.

In a couple of days everyone that I knew had said no. No to helping, no to praying, no to really even reading what the message had to say I'm guessing. I wasn't surprised, and I'm not even angry. Just knew it was going to happen.

-

I called Da. to tell him some good news, and as usual we started talking about God and the church in general, and how people react to us and how we are trying to live out our faith.

The question that I always get asked is, "Do you go to church?"

I tend to answer no. Because I don't go sit down once a week to listen to a pastor and sing some worship music. My church has become the time I spend talking with sM. about helping the homeless. Or the time I spend with Da. on the phone talking about faith and love, and living for God in spite of our flaws.

That has become my church, because when I'm in a church I hear a lot of people talking about what we should be doing. Couldn't the hour we just spent listening, be used doing. They will know us by our love, not our awesome worship service.

Don't get me wrong, church has its place. And there are amazing people in every church I have ever been to. People that I have loved, and that have loved me back. People that I respect, and people that do.

But I don't have the desire to sit and learn over and over that Christ died for my sins, and that I should be helping those less fortunate than me. I know that.

I need to just do that.

-

In 1997 I was just getting out of high school, and really just getting into punk in a very serious way.

I was reading everything that I could find to learn about new bands, and get my head around a genre of music that had several decades of back catalog on me.

I found Warzone that year.

Some CD re-release of "Don't Forget the Struggle, Don't Forget the Streets." And like I did with every CD that I bought, I read the lyrics and the liner notes, mostly to discover new bands, and to know what they were singing about. And Warzone was all about the working class, and the poor. In the liner notes were stories about how their merch table would have pamphlets telling you where you could get help with depression, condoms, clean needles, and all sorts of other social problems. They wanted to elevate people beyond their circumstances.

Sure they were just another punk band, but they wanted to help people. That was their church. And they helped their people.

Sure I was just another punk, but I wanted to help people too. I wanted to be the kind of person that would go out and give help to the helpless.

And because I had been raised in a church, and with the platitudes of the church, I always thought that is what the church was all about. Whatever you do for the least of my brothers and whatnot.

So I was in a band, and all after high school that band was all about Jesus, and all about trying to spread the good news of the gospel, and in my heart I always wanted to make it about more. About more than the gospel, about giving back to people, about finding a way to help the least.

And then in 1997 Raybeez died. I heard about it from a friend, an older hardcore dude that I really looked up to. And he told me a lot of the same stories about Raybeez and Warzone. That they were constantly trying to help people, and give direction as to where you could go to get some help, with addiction, with depression, with real life problems.

He died of pneumonia. Because he lived with the people that he cared about. He lived like the people he cared about. He didn't give a fuck that he was poor, or sick. Because everyone around him was poor and sick, and he loved them all the same.

It was then that I realized that I wasn't really a "Christian." At least not the way the church thought I should be. I wasn't the guy that sat in a pew and listened to what I was supposed to be doing. I was the guy that needed to go out into the crowd and find the people that needed help. I needed to live with them, and work with them, and be like them. I wasn't a Christian, I was a Punk that loved Jesus. And those are very different things.

-

I began to work in kitchens then.

And I learned that everyone in them has a story, and place that they are coming from, and that a lot of the time those people have been hurt so much by the church that they will never want to hear what you have to say about God. And I learned that they are always surprised to find out that someone like me loves the God that they feel has hurt them so bad. A God that they probably felt I had a right to be upset with.

And that is the world that I choose to live in still. This pirate ship of damaged people. People like me.

-

We made sandwiches. With some help from a couple of friends, and some money was collected so we could buy enough for 200 people.

And we took them out to Triangle Park. And food was very much on my mind. Because the men and women there rushed us. With arms outstretched then were desperate for what we had to offer.

And when it was over and done it was such an intensely personal experience, that I'm happy no church people were there to encroach on it. I'm glad that it was just me and Me. And that I didn't have to listen to a sermon, or pump myself up with a prayer, or worship music. We got the boxes of food and handed them out. No questions asked. And when we got back into the car (after less than an hour of work) Me. broke down and cried, because there were people that didn't get anything, because she wanted to do more. Because that is what it is really about. Helping others.

She turned on Toots and the Maytals, and he sang about love and a life of poverty too, and I looked out the window with tears streaming down my face.

-

D_n. and MJ. come into work all the time. Nearly every day honestly. These two old school punk guys. Former promoters, and band members. Guys that grew up in the same scene, and with the same struggles that I did. Guys that see the world in much the same way. As a struggle against the police, and Nazi's. Against drugs and booze, and falling into the traps of women that want to keep you, in a negative way. As opposed to a fight against The Devil, and My Sin Nature. It is all well and good to oppose the devil and all his ways, but this world is his, and we all have to live in it. I'm going to fight the shit he puts in my way, and not worry to much about him (he's defeated anyway).

They ask me what I was up to this weekend, and I tell them about the sandwiches.

And they are the first people that I know that say, "Awesome man. That is good work, you need to give back to the community."

They have been there, in the streets, poor, desperate.

They maybe have sat in a church before, I couldn't tell you. But with those few sentences I realized again, that I'm not really a Christian, I'm a Punk. I may love Christ, and his sacrifice, but I will never be a part of the church as it is here and now. I don't fit, I don't belong, I belong with my people. I belong in the gutters and the alleyways. I need to be helping a guy up off of the barroom floor, or passing out sandwiches to the homeless. I need to be talking to my friend who is suicidal, or the one that is an alcoholic and doesn't want to tell his wife. I need to be with the people that He went to. And if that means I die sick and poor than all the better.

Because those are my people.

And that is my faith.

"You Gotta Keep The Faith."

-Warzone

File Under Virtue.

City Fragments.

"Do we know what we are doing and why?"

"No."

"Do we care?"

"We'll work it out as we go along. Let our practice form our doctrine, thus assuring precise theoretical coherence."

-

The room is cool in the morning, for the first time in a while.

The fan is on and my arm is exposed.

Me. is saying something to me that I don't fully hear but I roll over in bed to listen. I know that my arm is cold so with a grin I wrap it around her body. She squeals and tells me it is too cold. But there is that smile and that giggle in her voice.

The arm stays.

We wake and move around the apartment. She is getting ready for her day, I'm getting ready for mine off.

She asks if I will walk her to her can, and I do. I look around and she mentions that Autumn is here. I think to myself, "Soon." And express the sentiment out loud. Then I look. The leaves on trees are starting to turn and I realize that soon is now.

That this Autumn will be my Spring.

Right here in this city...

Not to many months ago I would see a father with his children and be brought nearly to tears.

It isn't as bad as all of that anymore. I see them consistent enough, that I don't feel s big of void. I don't feel like weeping every time I see a kid on his dad's shoulders. And I've been having time with them one on one, something that I haven't had in such a long time.

Took a. to the football game and as the sun was going down in the stadium we were side by side. Father and son. And as the ribbon of the highway wrapping around the stadium began to light up with head lamps I remembered the magic of this city with my father.

Those nights when we would be returning from Den. and I would tell my dad, "I'm gonna live there someday."

I hope that the peace and joy I felt with my dad is present with my son.

This city...

She is in bed with me and she says soto voce, "I would live in the city. I like living here. I just wanted to move between the two cities because of my job, but I want to stay in the city."

She plans so far ahead that it boggles my mind sometimes, and this statement kind of surprises me because we have talked about moving to one of the middle ground cities so many times already. I make sure that she isn't just saying it because she thinks that it is what I want. She assures me that it isn't.

I'm surprised but very happy because as much as I wouldn't mind moving, I love this city...

I keep sewing up this pair of my shorts.

At first it was because I didn't have enough to buy a new pair. Now it is because I just don't want to spend the money, and I don't want to waste the pants. Too often we just throw away everything. I don't want to dispose of them because I know that I can still use them. And I finally live in a place where the stares are minimal.

I'm not the only one here with a patch on the ass of his pants. Because I'm not the only one that struggled to survive here. For all I know I may end up struggling again, but I welcome the challenge.

They don't stare in this city like the do where I come from...

The leaves are turning.

And I long for wilderness. Not the open fields and hot sun of the Eastern Plains. I long for forests and rivers. The edge of Clarion Cemetery calls me. This fearful wonderland of childhood. I craved adventure and this city seems to provide it.

File under Virtue.

Biking.

This ride would have been so much more different just three years ago.

I start off the day late. Trying so desperately to wake up. Even with Me. giving me light kisses and gently waking me, I still pull the blankets over my head. I sigh and move slowly out of bed. Me. is out the door and I sit at the computer to look at the Internet for a bit, but looking at the clock I realize that I'm already running ten minuets late.

I throw on shoes, grab my bag, and keys. Pulling the bike out of the closet and get going. I get down 12th and onto Broadway and as I'm cruising along the street I feel it. This kind of catch in the pedals that signaled the last time my pedal fell off. And I can tell that it is about to happen again. I pump and hope that I will make it all the way to work.

I make it to Iowa, and the death rattle happens. The pedal slips and falls to the ground. I'm 15 blocks from work. I call to tell them that I'm going to be late, and I start to walk.

When I get to work, it is a normal day. Which is to say that it is really frustrating. I send Mi. home early because I'm seriously sick of listening to him talk nonstop shit. I chew out the dishwasher for just being a jerk to everyone. And by the end of the day I'm ready to go.

I talk to Va. and he suggests that I could stop at the scooter store a half a block down to get the tool that I need to fix the bike. I clock out, look out the window, and it is pouring rain.

I walk out the door, unlock my bike, and walk the half block to the scooter place. He has the wrench that I need, and I fix the bike. The rain is coming down even harder. The guy tells me that I can stay until it lets up. I tell him no big deal, and get out the door.

No glasses, no iPod, no worries.

And it makes me think. Two, three years ago, this cold and wet would have made me irritated at best, and probably pretty pissed. I would have gotten home and yelled. At anyone that got in my way. I was not a happy man, and I didn't really know how to enjoy anything. In this moment, all there is is the sensation of the rain, the movement of my legs on the bike, the feel of the road.

It took me getting a little more mature, to revel in the joy of being child like.

A lot has changed.

File under Virtue.

The Morning After on Colfax

She just left for work.

It is my first propper day off since she arrived.

I don't have a bunch to do, just some things around the house. So I'm lazy for a bit, shit around on the internet, look at stuff that makes me laugh, find a web site, that kind of stuff.

But mostly I think.

I think about her.

About the journey that we have been on.

How this is the most insane way to enter a relationship ever. But that I have never been happier with someone. That this time I don't feel like I'm settling, or that I'm jumping in to quick, or that I have something to hide from her. I open this page and I want to write, but I just stare. My mind is jumbled and weak. Not the kind of sharpness that I would need to write this down, not the kind of mindset to look and put to words.

-

In the light of our "dark" apartment, her hair looks purple.

She is sitting on top of me in bed and we are having a conversation about the colours that we have dyed our hair. Mine are all primary: blue, green, red, black. Her's have names like Black Cherry, and the like. She is beautiful. Here and now. In this place and not leaving.

We cook for each other.

We clean house.

We go to work.

We see the kids.

We live.

And in this moment, in this light, she looks like a movie. She looks like a dream, a fantasy, she looks like the novel that is in my mind, like the pictures I use for this blog, she looks like music, and bookshelves full of Bukowski, Bourdain, and Vonnegut. She looks like "her," like "she," like home.

-

I couldn't figure out lines, and words this morning.

I grabbed a book, took a left out the front door down Washington. Soon I was at Colfax. Making my way to Pete's Cafe. It is a hole in the wall, and I haven't eaten there before, but it seems like the right idea. Simple food, coffe, a book, and some humanity. People moving back and forth, talking and living their day to day. There are people here like anywhere else. And I am soaking them in.

There is some kind of comfort there, in just seeing people. People that aren't like you, or that are like you but in a different way. Hard workers chatting before they go to work. Old men hunched over the paper, and coffee. This is the city.

I've said before that there is opportunity here. That there is hope. Renewal some how this place makes me whole. I've always wanted to be here, to live this life. And now I am.

-

She is there in bed right next to me.

It is morning, and she is grumbly about waking up. About getting out of bed, about leaving for work.

But this is life. And we may linger in bed a little longer than we should. And we may not want to detach for, "five more minuets." But we do. And it is right. Right to get a chance to be alone and think and relax. And revel, in the fact that today is another day with her. Another in a long line of days.

-

I walk home. Bourdain rolling through my mind. These words rolling through my mind.

I sit and the blank screen fills.

As always the blank screen fills up with life well lived, and at least mostly good (just for you Me., just for you).

To You:

Good morning, today, and tomorrow, and for a very long time.

Good morning.

File under Virtue.

Flight of Fancy

Each gulp of beer goes down smoother than the last.

I can feel myself sinking into the chair. The inertia of exhaustion setting in. There was a day of ladders and the hot sun, five gallon buckets and roller frames.

Hard work is what I need sometimes. Something to take the mind off of the rest of it.

I take another drink of the beer and remember last night.

Arm in arm with her. Watching movie, and then she has to leave. I never want her to leave. And even though I told her I would go to sleep I had to walk for a while to make the mind shut down.

I walk the streets of Capitol Hill and see people on their bikes with swords made of aluminium foil, and helmets, and shields to boot. It is some kind of game, some kind of whimsy that is organized and amazingly fun to watch. There has been rain recently so the sidewalks have puddles and all the lawns smell of fresh earth. I am alone tonight, but I don't feel so alone. I know that there is a life waiting for me no matter what turn this moment takes.

Just moments ago you were in my arms. You face half lit by the light of the lamp, the perfect scene for a movie about love and romance. And your eyes, they blazed so perfect, so deep, so full.

I know what you want.

Or at least I think I do.

And no matter what happens...

...File under Virtue.

Leaving for work.

I remember one of the first times I realized that my marriage was not going to work.

J. and I were looking for a new place to live. A place to rent. We needed an apartment, we needed to move out of a pretty messed up apartment, and into something bigger with our growing family. We had been married four or so years, and I had just started to work for SF, and I would pass this farm house on the side of the road every day on the way into work. To the left on the way in. To the right on the way home. Day after day. And everyday I would take it in. Something about it struck me as special. Like the kind of place that I would want to live in. Old, built before I was born, with history and a life all of its own. Strange angles, and little rooms, attics that have windows and space for a bed. The kind of places wayward children in kids novels grow up in, with uncles versed in alchemy to teach them. Character.

Then one day I passed it and there was a sign in the yard. For Rent.

I wrote the number down and went home.

I told J. about the place and she seemed mostly interested, so we decided to call the number and find out more. We called found the price which was almost in our range, and then set up a time to go see it.

We drove out there with out the kids one evening, it was about 6pm and it was July or August, because it was very hot. We parked in the dirt parking lot, and walked up to the F350 with a guy in a cowboy hat in it. He got out and gave a firm farmer handshake to the two of us and led us into the house from the back. The door opened and I felt the heat coming out of the house. And I saw J.s face sour, but I ignored it and walked in.

The light in the place was amazing, just pure light coming in from the huge windows in the front of the living room. The kind that is shafting with little dust motes floating about in it. And for this moment I had a dream. Her and I were living in this house. We had our kids and she was cooking, and I was helping and the kids were playing, we all sit and eat dinner, then the kids go to bed and we are on the front porch on chairs drinking something cold in a sweating glass full of ice. And in the morning I would get up and help the kids get ready and we would all get ready, and I would leave for work. And I would kiss those kids goodbye, work a day for a day's pay and come home, to that wife and those kids, and a simple life. And then J. just looks at me and says,"It is so hot in here, we need to just move into an apartment with air conditioning."

My heart sank. She couldn't see what I saw, and from experience I knew that to tell her would be futile. I just gave up on it.

But now that time of my life is gone. And I had these moments after the divorce where I lived like that, just with out the wife. And then that fell apart too. Now instead I come home to this apartment in the city. And it is hot here, but I can see all the beauty and hope and potential for something amazing here, and there isn't anyone to just tell me, "Its to hot." I can sit and sweat and listen to the blues and feel, literally feel the music. But right now they are missing.

They aren't here for me to come home to after work. to giggle and play in the park or to watch Astro Boy, or to get silly with some cartoons, to ask about homework and school days and all of that. Some day maybe, but until then I have some weekends with them.

This Saturday I was with them, and amidst all of the fun, a. begins to have a bit of a melt down. And I have to discipline him, and it isn't something that I want to do, because he is sad and he cries, and my heart is breaking because I just want these little people to have a chance to have fun while I'm with them.

a. settles down and we all settle into bed. s. is asleep and b. wants to fall asleep, but she stays up with her brother to listen to a story in the book that V. brought with her. And V. lays with the boy, while the girl sits behind me, and I tell a story, and there is comfort and closeness, and for a moment a family. The kids sleep and V. leaves, and I don't sleep.

When I wake up in the morning I lean over each of them. 5.30a and the sun is just tugging at the edges of the curtains. Each in turn I lean over, and kiss them on the cheek.

"I love you, Daddy has to go to work I'll be home soon. I'll miss you."

Today it hit that I still haven't been home yet. I was on break and went outside to eat lunch. I opened the door and felt the heat, I remembered the farm house, and I remembered that little kiss. Right on each little cheek. Today I need big arms and little arms around me. A cloud passed over the sun for a second while I looked at the buildings across the alley, and realized that the house wouldn't have been hot all the time. That sometimes it would have been just what I needed, home. At least for a time.

I turn off the fans in my apartment, let the temperature rise, turn on John Lee Hooker, and sit at the keyboard.

There is no place like home.

There is no place like home.

File under Virtue.

Heat and Relief.

Heat

It does something to you.

When it is 70 at 7 am and you know that it is just going to go up from there. It makes you full of bitter rage. You burn with hatred for the sun, and for your fellow man. The six blocks to the bus makes sweat break out in rosary beads on my forehead, each one slowly rolling down into my eyes, they sting like someone else's tears.

The soundtrack becomes Crossroads Blues, and country about sweltering heat. I'm preparing myself. Building up my mind for how I will physically feel in just a short time.

The population of the bus has increased ten fold with weather that doesn't involve snow. Three people ask me for something at the stop. Cigarettes and money, this is all they ever want. I want to have pity but it is hard. I am hard. It is like the heat has hardened me some. Like it has cauterized something vital shut. I should have a heart and a soul today, but it isn't here. It lays in another place. Hidden, a hidden heart. A story only the most nerdy of my friends have heard, and a story that only I think I really feel.

A man gets on the bus behind me.

He moves and twitches to much. Over active in his movements to the point that I want him to stop moving for ever. I seem to burn with irritation. The bus moves, someone honks at it. The bus driver swears and honks back. Tempers are rising again. 7:15am and the mercury lifts and lifts and lifts like it never wants to end.

Twitch answers his phone. He is in his 50's at the youngest. He starts talking about Facebook and how he was talking to one of his girlfriends from when he was in Jr. High and how she hasn't mentioned that she is married, and that she seems friendly, and that he hates the internet so he will give her his number. Then he says, "Should I tell her that I just got out of prison." He keeps talking, overly loud. All of us on the bus now know that he has been to prison.

I just want him to stop talking.

I want so many people to stop talking. There are just to many people everywhere. I don't care most of the time if I'm one of the people that stops talking. It isn't suicidal, or defeatist, it is just that the whole world needs relief.

This heat.

I read about community, and freedom, and a change that I can really understand. One where we live like there is no tomorrow to make sure there is a better tomorrow.

Stop talking.

My stop is up and I walk into work. There is air conditioning, but it is hot still. It is 7:30am and when I pick up a thermometer in the kitchen it says that it is 95, then I watch it move up a little more. I work, I sweat, no longer beads but trails down my back, into the bandanna on my forehead. I don't want to talk, I don't want to say much. I don't want to use the energy to make hot breath into the air for the sake of idle chatter. I stop talking.

For one shift I'm the living dead. I have no goal, I have no purpose, I have no aim save, "Finish work and leave, get out of this heat and into less heat."

Political treatise and taste in music movies and books all flee me. There is nothing but the hidden heart and the heat.

She is one day away.

The heat is here now. It is here now and as I get ready to finish the day of work it is all I feel. I walk out the door, damp form sweat and the cleaning of a professional kitchen. I stink and I'm bleeding a little. I know that I ache but the sun beats down on me so hard that I can't find the energy to care. The line in the kitchen was hotter, but this heat is just as bad.

Back to the bus.

I get on, the next guy argues about the fare. The driver won't let him on, so the passenger gets nasty and pays the rest of the fare. Then he answers his phone. He cusses out the driver via a conversation with the person on the phone. All he can say is fuck this driver, damn mexicans, they should shoot them all and the like.

We get to the station and there are cops.

Another guy on the bus calls someone. Lets them know he is running late because of some trouble on the bus. The other end tells him that his appointment has been canceled. His voice bellows, "WELL YOU KNOW WHAT!"

The other end hangs up on him.

He is rocking back and forth with anger. He seethes for a few stops then calls back. "I'm all the way down fucking town and I don't need to be. This is ridiculous! I'm all the way downtown and it is so FUCKING HOT!"

I want him to shut up. All of them. Voices gone from the world. The bus closes in and stifles. I feel anger rising up. I feel The Fear like I haven't in a while.

Its my stop and I'm off and I walk with a purpose. I want to leave, to be gone, to walk out of the city. But I walk home, into my room. I still sweat, I feel like I reek, I shower, I sit, I drink, I turn on the TV until I sleep.

I want to shut it all out.

Relief

With sleep comes cool. I don't even notice when it happens it just comes in.

I wake with the sun and a cool breeze blowing over my stripped down torso. She is on her way and she has brought relief with her. Cool air. I move through my day in a unhurried and less annoyed way. The steady stream of cool wind seems to give everyone a new bit of life.

I still hear the voice that says, "There is a time coming. When all of us will have to survive. And many won't." And it still fills me with a kind of anticipation. The kind that realizes that we have lost track of the rhythm of things. We don't remember the hot and cold. We only remember the discomfort of moving from controlled climate to controlled climate. There is joy in a snow man, or in the popcicle on the sidewalk.

More and more we are losing out way. The heat is trailing off though. As I walk the city I don't feel like dieing. I just feel like moving.

I go home to wait for her.

There is music and distraction.

And soon her.

Her in my arms, her voice, her hands, her stories.

I doze and drift. Dreams and a cool breeze on a warm day. She comes in and the embrace never ends. We hold and hold and hold, and fall into bed, and the heat turns to white hot and I feel like I'm going to burst. With joy, with love, with passion. I feel like I'm on fire, and all of the heat of the week has built up inside me to make me want to destroy, and fight, and rage war. And it is all coming out of me in her arms, she is holding me, and I fall into her. My heart spirals, and she is close beyond close.

There is thunder. And the cordite smell of burnt ozone. It isn't to close but the clouds are coming and the thunder is more frequent. And the rain starts to fall harder and harder. And with her comes relief. With her comes the perfect story. With her comes hope and desire, love and anger all wrapped into one.

The rain comes down, and I listen to her talk. I listen and watch and wonder.

Someday there will be a time when we will have to survive, and if I don't survive that is fine. Just give this place relief.

Lord knows I needed it.

More rain.

More rain.

File under Virtue and Agency.

Bits and Peices.

You said, You said, You said, This Time was going to be Different.

Da. comes up about once a month to get his braces worked on. And I make a point of going out with him every time that he comes down. His is one of my best friends, and I love to spend time with him.

He has a cousin. A young guy that has a decent head on his shoulders, but he likes to tell us what kind of music that he likes. And since Da. and I are bitter old men when it comes to music we are always ribbing him about the bands that he likes to tell us are hardcore.

But Da. tells me that he is coming to town and that K. really wants to take him to see Set Your Goals. One of the afore mentioned "hardcore" bands. Even though I'm supposed to be going to watch The Railbenders with C. I feel that going to hang with Da. is more important, and that means sucking it up and seeing a band that I'm just not that into. I want to go have fun with Da. so I find myself walking into The Marquis and listening to some halfways decent pop punk.

Punctuated by Comeback Kid.

When I was K.'s age, I was into hardcore the difference was that hardcore back then was a lot more connected to its roots. This music came from something and it is still evolving and I have to give some respect to that. I really do but to hear Comeback Kid, who has a pedigree and a sound that recalls that time. It reminds me of what that feels like to have that youthful spirit, that idealism that I haven't ever really let go of, but that I have let mellow out a little bit.

And to see Da. next to me in the pit was one of the best moments of bortherhood, of connectedness that I have had in a while. Comback Kid did their set and we old men stood aside and let the kids do their thing.

I watched them move the way we used to move. Jumping up on the backs of their friends to get closer to the mic and scream their favorite line. Swinging fists and yelling, having fun. I couldn't hold that against them, and suddenly I understood what K. was talking about. Suddenly I understood that they are hardcore, just in a different way.

They have a shirt that says, "May I never lose my youth, all of this is too unforgetable." I understand exactly what they mean.

Dear John Waters, Thank You.

The next night another of my best friends came down. Me. had been plaing this night for a while. One of her best friends is a transgendered. If you don't really get what that means I would encourage you to look it up. Past that all that matters is that Ra. is just like you or me. She is a human being. She is funny, and loved the fact that Repo Man says John Wayne was a cross dresser (a fact I have had a little trouble verifying even on the internet. For once Snopes failed me on an urban legend), and she pours Bud Light over ice with a lime, she is engaging and intellegent, and she is one of Me.'s best friends. Unfortunatley she lives in G. which isn't really a beacon of enlightenment and progressive thought, so she catches a lot of shit.

Her chance to get out and be with her people is to come down to D. go to the gay bars, and just have a good time in a place where she can be comfortable in a culture where she fits in. So Me. made plans to come down and stay at a friends house and just have a good time. And I was to be drug along.

I'll be honest I was really nervous about the whole thing.

I've never been to a gay bar. I've never really been around a lot of gay people (though I have had a lot of gay friends and have come to terms with the whole they just do it different and other than that are exactly the same). But I just didn't know: What to expect, how to dress, what to think, how to act. None of it.

So they pull up and and go out I meet Ra. for the first time, and my default greeting is to shake hands. She pulls me into this hug, and tells me how much Me. talks about me and how great it is to meet me. And I'm trying hard to not feel uncomfortable because I know that she will preceive it as being uncomfortable with her, when really it is just the hug.

My culture is about fist bumps, high fives, shaking hands and punching in the shoulder, not hugs, so this is a bit awkward. Me. does it to me too, and because I hang out with her enough I'm used to it with her, but with a stranger. When did I get so closed to human contact? But I was determined to not let anything hang me up. I know that Me. is a great friend and that she has great friends, I was trusting her.

We went to a friend of Ra.'s who was letting them crash there. And Then we went to Hamburger Mary's. It is a burger joint that is run by drag queens (who tend to be different than transgendered individuals) and has fucking amazing burgers. Honest, as a cook they were really good.

Then the plan was to go to Charlie's a local gay bar.

I was really antsy. I just didn't know what to expect. But we pull up and Ra. makes me feel comfortable with one sentence to a limo driver about what kind of CDL he needs to drive the Hummer limo. In that second it dawned on me, "These people are just like all of my other gay friends, they are just people out to have a good time." So I walked right in with the two of them.

The place was just like any bar, with good drink specials, and a lot of people having fun. There was honestly less desperation and pretention in the air than most places that I go. I had a great night, and was articulating that to Me. and Ra. through the whole night.

There were things that I saw that really weren't to shocking, that Ra. would glance over at me about. To see if I was "straight" freaking out. But honestly John Waters really prepared me well for a gay bar.

As the night worn on I was sitting talking to Ra. about how good of a time I was having and how fun I thought she was. And she said, "You are so sweet. Thank you." And leaned in a kissed me. It was strange, because I wasn't offended or put off. All I could think was about how Ra. was just out looking for someone to love her. Just like we all are. And I feel pretty honored that for that split second I got to be the person loving her, because she probably doesn't get a whole lot of love in her life.

We walked to Benny Blanco's and got some pizza after closing down Charlie's and while there Me. went in to order pizza, while Ra. and I sat outside. Some idiot inside wouldn't stop staring, so I told him, "Keep staring and see what fucking happens," he turned around quick. Ra. is my friend now, and I protect my friends the best I can.

Me. and Ra. caught a cab to where they were crashing and I walked home down the alley.

Un Beso de Desayuno

V. has keys to my place.

I've told her that she can always stay over. If she doesn't want to drive home, or just to get away for the night, or anything.

I lay in bed and pass out.

Then I hear the door opening.

The bolt slides open and then shoes thumping next to the floor. Then a jacket hitting the ground.

"Hey scoot over."

I scoot. We wrap up in each other's arms. Sleep evades for a while. Close comfort.

We lay next to each other in the dark. Soft kisses and then finally sleep. I have to be up for work very soon, but I have no desire what so ever to lose this moment. As I sleep I wake myself up over and over. Restless but because I want to remember all of this. This is what love felt like a very long time ago, and I want to grasp it.

We wake the next morning and she gives me a ride to work, asking me all about the night before, and really happy that I had the experiance that I had. I love to share things with her, and she tells me all about her night, and what she loved about it. And the she gives me a kiss, and I'm off hoping to see her sooner rather than later.

Bri. Bri.

There are some friendships that I'm very sad went to the wayside for one reason or another.

Bri.Bri. is one of them.

He played bass for a band that my first band used to play with a lot, and we became very good friends.

We never had any kind of falling out, we just stopped being around each other. And stopped communicating (something that was a lot easier to do about 10 years ago).

About twice a year I would try to look him up on the internet or ask some people if they knew what he was up to. Information was spotty. And then one day about three months ago he friended me on Facebook.

I met with him the Monday after waking up next to V. We caught up. I told him about my marriage and divorce, my three kids, my move to D. and my poverty. He told me about his alcoholisim, how he lost a woman (and her kids) that he loved intensely, and that he was a maker of primative weapons, and that he was learning about gun repair.

And we walked.

All over the neighborhood.

The restless feet of Agents. The restless feet that I have grown so acustomed to in my friends. These men and women that are waiting for that one spark. Something to set the fire that we can flame. Flames that we can use to forge.

It is good to know that Bri.Bri. still carries the fire.

It is good to know that Da. will never forget his youth.

It is good to know that Ma. and Ra. can find love.

It is good to know that V. fits well in these arms.

Where to even file this. There is no place except for all.

So File Under All.

This Second.

I feel haunted by this very moment.

The air is fresh and clean.

It is spring time in the city and I can't shake the feeling that I want to be in your arms. That I want you so much that it hurts a little bit. That there is an ache and a desire there that just keeps growing.

The cars pass by on Washington as Al Green softly plays on my stereo.

And everything is right with the world.

I have turned the TV off. Put away the books. Stopped working on projects. And have just decided to sit and look out the window while the world passes by.

Would you be content with a moment like this.

Soft music, people watching, fuck not even people watching, passing car watching. There is nothing happening, there is no exciting story here. No barroom brawl, broken light fixture, or punch to the face. Just quiet and solitude.

Some how I think that you would. And that you wouldn't ruin the solitude part. That somehow your presence at this very moment would make the moment feel more real without making it feel crowded.

A few days ago Mi. and I are walking out of work. He is going to give me a ride and we get into his Explorer or whatever it is. He sits down and rolls down his window, and in his accent says, "We gotta do something different today." He opens the sun roof on his car.

This is the same moment. I've been living in that moment for a few days now. Taking in sun and warm and beauty.

I'm writing this for you. You know who you are. And I want you to know this right now: As I look out the window at nothing more than passing cars, the occasional scene kid, and the brick wall of the building next door, all of these Al Green songs are talking about you. And I want you to be here curled in my lap in the chair like you tend to do. I want to wrap my arms around you and be silent. The passing cars hiss, a siren now and then, or an errant voice. Nothing more or less than this kind of simplicity that I know we both crave.

My man Al says, "Let's stay together." I couldn't agree more.

Now mind you, this isn't meant to make you feel guilty, or sad.

Don't take it that way.

I just know that I won't be talking to you on the phone tonight, I know that I can't text this whole idea, and that chat is a useless medium to me a lot of the time. I just wanted you to know that I'm still thinking about you. And that it gets my mind moving the same way it always has, and that sometimes writing in a little red notebook is great, but it won't get read by you nearly soon enough.

This is the best and fastest way to tell you.

I've fallen for you.

Now the world knows.

Or at least the three people that read this fucking thing.

I know that the world would have you bide your time elsewhere and I understand that. I've come to terms that I have to take what I can get. And I've come to terms with the impermanence of things as a whole. Its just that...

...

...This second would be better with you.

Nearly every second would be better with you.

That was way less obscure than I normally write. But tonight. Who gives a fuck? Not me.

I'm going to go back to watching out the window. Turn up the Al Green a little bit, who cares about the neighbors, its not like it is Doomriders. Who knows maybe I will see you coming up the block?

File under both.

Wristbands

I look over and see her.

And I see what I have always wanted.

This person that cares about me, that wants me to be happy, that I have the ability to make happy. But as with everything in my life there are massive complications. There are so many things that prevent me from taking what I want in this situation. And though I have accepted that it makes me feel a little lost some times.

How to stay grounded?

How to keep in mind all the time that I am loved by someone, and that that someone is out there and real. because sometimes these moments with her feel like dreams.

She gave me some wrist bands once. Little jellies like you would wear when you were a kid. At work I would feel them or notice them. And my heart would revel in those moments of soft kisses and held hands. Simple little things that mean the most. And then, then came the health department. And the guy told me to take them off, and I put them in the pocket of my pants. Pants that I took off at the end of the shift and threw into the laundry basket. Pants that I didn't really think that I would see ever again.

It has been a long couple of weeks.

I haven't seen her as much as I would like. I have be buster broke. I haven't spent to much time with friends. My days off have been alone in my apartment watching tv. And I miss my kids more than anything.

I was drifting.

Feeling that disconnect.

Like I was somehow fading into the background.

I think there are a lot of people that this happens to. A lot of people that one day wake up and realize that they are no one, that they are no where. That work - sleep - eat - work - sleep is their life and that there is nothing else past that. I try to write, or to read, or to do music so that I don't fall into this, but sometimes that just becomes part of the invisible routine too. And then at work I reached into the pocket of my pants. And there they were.

Wristbands.

The same ones. On a day when I needed connection to life, and reality, more than anything else they were there to remind me of a life that I almost have. Of the fact that there is something that I still long for. That there is always something worth fighting for, and that love is an amazing motivator.

I needed that.

I needed to be close and I got that too.

I'm never taking these things off again.

File under Virtue.

Home is 47 Miles Away.

It seems like a life time ago when this was my life.

I'm curled up in bed with b. & a. watching Bones.

a. falls asleep in my arms.

b. cuddles next to me, and I feel alive.

Once, this was my life. And I live for these brief moments.

But it is time for them to go home. And I still have no way to get back to Den. So I decide in that moment to do what I know how to do best. I decide to walk. I get a ride to the interstate and then walk down the off ramp. I put my beanie on, stick my thumb out and start to walk.

-

The world is so much different out here.

There is no light between the exits, just this cold black stretch of road. My shadow stretches out for what seems like forever then whips behind me as car after car flies by. The hiss of their wheels and roar of their engines, startle even though you know they are coming. And the semis fly past, seconds after they are gone, wind buffets the body. I'm walking so the cold isn't really a factor, my body is warm and I have enough clothes on so it isn't cutting through me like it could. And then I see the sign. Denver 47.

I stop for just a moment, take a deep breath and steel myself for what may be about to happen. For the fact that I may actually end up walking 47 miles to get home.

-

She is taking me to see them. The car flying down the highway. I'm exhausted from staying up to late the night before, being there for a friend, and then working the whole day. I rest my head on her shoulder and though not asleep I'm in that place of tired comfort. I listen to her talk about her past life, and sing a little bit. I feel like a real person with a real life for just a little bit. Not this ghost that I'm becoming where I feel like I just pass in and out of lives to play a major part but never the lead role.

So many times she has been my saving grace. So many times she has come through for me. And today when she told me that she would come to get me, so that I could see them, I cried. And fell more in love with her.

She made me feel more valued than I could ever imagine.

Pulling up to the house I see kids looking out the window, waiting not just for me, but for us. And my heart soars. We go in, and they are in different rooms, but as soon as they see us, they ambush. There are hugs and kisses and wrestling. All those things that I love so much about my three children. When they aren't around I miss them so much that it hurts. So I try not to think about them. But when they are there, that is all I think about.

And with her by my side. The smile was never ending.

-

Brake lights.

A turn signal.

I see them over and over. Switching lanes and slowing down, all a cruel joke of the cosmos. One foot in front of the other I keep going. The hills are an illusion. When the cars hit them going up, it looks like they are slowing down. It looks like they may be getting ready to stop. The angle of the auto changes lie leaving leaving the impression that they are slowing down. I stop watching the cars and just look at the pitch black ground as they fly by me.

My mind wanders as I think about what they are thinking. Or if they are even thinking. Wondering if I'm dangerous, or how poor I may be, if they even register that someone is walking along the side of the road, alone, in the middle of the night. Then I see real tail lights pulled over on the shoulder and run.

-

Joe takes me about five miles to the next exit and drops me off at a gas station. I get a drink of water and walk out to the highway again. One foot in front of the other. Home is closer.

And so far away.

I just keep walking until the pin pricks of light that are the stars catch my eye. Bright shining in the pitch black of the highway shoulder. Every once and a while the world catches me by total surprise. There is nothing more spectacular than nature. It is so wild and open. I begin to drift off into thoughts of life without society, and my foot slips sideways off of the side of the road.

I roll my ankle for the fourth or fifth time in a few months. Going down to a knee I try to get up as quick as I can, and my leg just tries to give up. "Fuck you foot!" I yell and stand up. The pain is immense and for a second, like every time I've rolled my ankle, I think that maybe I broke it this time. But I put some weight on it, and start to walk. At first at a limp. But then I just start to force the same pace I had before.

I'm moving again.

-

I walked another hour and a half or so when I saw the next set of tail lights flash, and the second car pull over.

I jog up behind it.

There is this second where I think, "What if this person is going to kill and kidnap me?"

Then I realize that they are probably thinking the same thing, so I just walk up to the door. I'm surprised to see a woman sitting in the driver's seat alone. I open the door and slide in. She introduces herself as Crystal and asks where I'm going.

I tell her Denver.

She asks where.

I tell her downtown.

She tells me that isn't to far out of her way and offers to take me all the way into the city. I thank her profusely. Conversation is good, but nothing really to call home about. I try to bring up everything that pisses people off, because I tend to do that with new people, so religion, politics and Chelsea Football all come up.

She rambles on about growing up with brothers, and rugby, and some other stuff. And exhaustion is trying really hard to make me fall asleep. So I just smile and nod, and every time I have a chance I hijack the conversation and talk as much as possible to stay awake. Just like a.

-

There he was.

Hyper, kicking, running, wrestling.

Until I took him in my arms and whispered while we laid down, "Just calm down boy, lay here with me and calm down."

And he did.

And he slept.

And one foot got put in front of the other. And I was home. And it was all worth it to have him in my arms, asleep, for just a little bit.

File under Virtue