Poetry is ease & talking. Talking is breathing with words. They are not without effort – they are my comfort. In here most of my talking is internal & those who know me know whom I’m addressing & of course context of the conversation. This blog is unnatural – putting a sweater on a horse. Sure it’s cool & all a way to get one’s point, perception, vision across. It’s not unnatural. It’s difficult for me. I already talk to mirrors , puddles reflections – lately birds. So I pretend you are all birds-ok? Then I’ll babble. I have the luxury of knowing what I really want. If I can/ could actually tell you of everything what do I want & of course those that know me know who he is. Well there's 3 hes. 1 is impossible well shackled to this plain/universe. Other doesn’t know me & the last well, that’s his father, Noah. I intend on failing as a poet because not only do I refuse, I can’t, explain/express that pain. Not only do I have no apology I’m proud to know there are emotions, words impossible for me to express. Understand. I had a stroke 3 hours after being released from the County Jail. Do the math over 2 years in prison & to hear Noah’s voice. To see his beautiful face. To let him crush me in his arms. My heart will crash. Then to hold his son. & I don’t embarrass, but a man can only be so strong. I had lost my way. First my health. Then Jacob. Then Colette. Then our jobs. Then James shot. Tim thrown in the river & Julie beat up & then Noah almost shot. Then Evan. Then prison (frankly a relief). I had so lost my way. Then Evan Henry was born. A cycle began. We lost wonderful dear friends & family. I’ve always resented the word/definition comfort. If we accept, yes. We are not here for comfort. We are here to keep getting back on that horse that has thrown us & I’m standing again & I’m ready to raise some hell. To crush Noah with my hugs. Take. E.H. to the lake or down the street for ice cream or whatever. Let him know without letting him know that grandpa is not going to let him go.
Been listening to blue grass/country on the radio today. The banjo may be my favorite instrument. I have wonderful & amazing friends. I can’t talk about them in here. First, no one would believe me. I do talk to Dave about them but Dave is different. Like Aaron. They are the 1% out of a million. Guys who lost their way, took responsibility, accountable. They are the exceptions in here. Sure some guys are alright – Dave & Aaron are friends. Real friends. Not John’s crazy friends. Anyway I am lucky. Good does beget good. Well Kelly is beyond comprehension at every level. When I saw the images of the chap books on the blog I wept because they are alive. We did it. We took so much time & energy to write, publish & circulate 5 chap books plus 2more on the way and a zine we are finishing. Sure anything is possible but when was the last time this was accomplished? I meant the poems aren’t all that amazing but they are righteous & our intentions are/were pure & redemptive. Right now they are in my friends & family’s hands. Kelly pulled it all together. So suffice to say she is one of my untouchables. Of course the list gets major here from friends who sent money for backing the chaps & zine, books & beads, to a typewriter from Richard H. so Stacy, Erica, Julie, Richard H, Richard L. Jonathan, Joel, Reed, Chuck, Matt, Chrisanne, KiKi, Ben, Mom, Dad, Pat, Paul, Mark, Zack Matt, Mike, Jesse, Conroy, Elaine, Gene, Rob, Conrad, Thurston, Noah, Amanda & of course James Liddy, who reminded me of Oscar Wilde (De Profundis is his amazing journey of prison). I’m sure I forgot some and for that I’ll make amends but as you can see I got lots of amending to do. (this is where I am speechless & so loved) & it goes without saying I wouldn’t have made this without Evan.