Porn for Writers Come on and take a ride across the border to a place that once was mine Out of focus, out of order, pictures from another time Nobody who was present will forget that perfectly-timed crack of thunder as Dan Navarro wove oral history into the opening bars of We Belong . One of the kids said it out loud: " We belong to the thunder! " And we laughed; and we did belong, crowded under the patio roof for what became a sing-along. Lowen & Navarro's beloved hit segued into (and I'm not sure why) Steve Miller Band's The Joker , and then something I can't remember because I was overwhelmed by the night and had to pull back into the misty rain. Afterward, I found our hostess Alexandra and thanked her for creating a space where I was comfortable to be what I am, to draw pictures instead of staring at the musician, dance in dark corners. She'll email me, she said, when they have another happening. On the outside turning lighter, so m
Showing posts from January, 2020
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He was in the park, laughing and throwing seed to birds. Pigeons swaggered awkwardly around him like old men hanging out on corners. Two stroller-pushers - mothers or nannies - swerved wide with mild alarm, as if the inappropriate happiness of this old man on the bench might harm their babies. "Bread swells in their craws," he said, looking up at me,"and will kill them. Rice, too. That's why people throw bird-seed at weddings." Willard held up the small paper sack to me, but I declined. He pulled more seed from it and broadcast wide; pigeons ambled forward, pecking and deliberating. He had endless obscure facts, and I wanted to sit and listen to all of them. This time, though, the little man in his practical suit who sat in the park every day had little to say. He just smiled with childlike wonder, admiring the birds as if they were a committee he was orchestrating or an orchestra he was conducting. He'd look up at me from time to time, knowing
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I think we're going to win a third season of Netflix's MindHunter . I hope I'm right; I hope enough other people appreciate that not-quite-resolved ending. I don't mean the convenient cliffhanger. I mean the part where our society is mirrored and resolution doesn't mean resolution for everyone. And that deep-80s soundtrack that hearkens back to my basement days. "I feel Guilt, though I know I done no wrong I feel guilt" - Marianne Faithfull This song sums up my mood at the moment. Ghostly emotions tend to creep on the weekends. I wonder if this feeling of guilt was instilled in me by Catholicism , or if Catholicism was invented to address it? Does it have anything to do with my absent-while-present father ? Some sin for which I've been forgiven? That nagging feeling that I've missed something crucial and thus failed in my efforts? Why doesn't matter. Guilt is a powerful tool that's often used against us.