8189

Tuesday, more than 2 months out. It’s harder writing this than before. The need to continue happens for a number of reasons. 1 – to let those close know I’m going forward; 2 – to document this journey; 3 – to resolve anger; at myself for being so selfish. For forgetting all the support, love, tenderness, at Evan for leaving, for the state for not listening, for the silence that allows so much wrong to continue. Anger does help heal, to allow it to speak, to protect, to give a certain closure (Evan). I never got real angry with Evan. Just feeble bouts of. He was and will always remain like his brother – overwhelming sensitive. They learned from me to clothe sensitivity with anger or bravado – to hide it in what is not. Looking back perhaps I should have seen Evan was not long for this world. I have a hard time justifying by saying he’s in a better place. I’m selfish & misery does love company. So many sinking ships. Anger at the state, guilty by association. Just because my behavior was so inappropriate does not mean I hurt children in that way. I know that. My friends do. My family. I got a job making pizzas so I guess even strangers see beyond this. b.s. So my anger at the state continues cause they continue.
I was with horrid men who committed such crimes it would be a crime to discuss with you. Not their identity. What they did. How they justify. How they will continue. Live like wolves & you observe scary behavior. Myself. My anger at myself does wane when I listen. When friends come up & talk about those last days, weeks, months. I was a car bomb waiting for someone to put the key in. Something was going to happen. It’s hard to hear. To know I was not John. I was madness in John’s skin. So my anger reminds me. Protects me. Allows me to be accountable. It’s not an active or violent anger, it’s a dammit! Anger. It’s an amazing self aware anger. I’m sure silence then forgiveness will follow. Now I listen. I listen to their pain, now their support & concern. I’ll be sad for a while, maybe forever. It’s not the end of the world. It’s an awareness & thru it we/I discover 2 larger purposes. Beyond poetry. Beyond art. It’s family. It’s love. It’s quiet & it’s sweet. I sit more than before. Things seem to work out. I just wait without sounding self-pity or dramatic. I grieve for Evan. For me. For all of us. & thru that I intend on doing all to make the day better, if it doesn’t work, I’ll still try.

There are still a number of chapbooks available. 5 total done. 2 more to finish & Flagrant. So for the 5, they are $5 each, postage included all 5 for $18. Either e-mail singlepresse@yahoo.com or write me at 1671 N. Prospect Avenue, #507, Milwaukee, WI, 53202.

Just got some great poetry & art from Stacy at Poetry Project, Joel of Fell Swoop fame & Mike Noland, an amazing artist from IL. All wonderful gifts. Plenty to read & dream. A thank you to all. My mother & Milton always reminded me “we are not alone & to reach out”. I could not have done this alone & to have thrived as I have – thank you & all my love.

I just got a heartbreaking letter from a friend in. Lost a dear, dear friend when he was mid 20’s. The circumstances, devastating. It’s so hard to write to him because I want to hold him. He held this in for 30 years. My heart is so sick. Sometimes you have to wonder why. Look around. This is so hard. To go forward. So much sadness. Sure, if you don’t care or you can separate or you get the bigger picture, but sometimes you don’t & you want your friend, brother, sister, father, mother, son back. The quiet in prison helped. I learned to let go. To relax. To breathe & to make things. Sometimes we don’t have time to stop and glaze a plate or sew a quilt. But make that pizza special or make your first cake. Do it for yourself. For those with you or for those who left. Do something. Just don’t go forward. Do something wonderful with those steps. I needed to go down this past path. I needed to remember to focus, to find birds again, to listen to music & yeah, make crazy pots & bead & leather. For all the bitching & moaning I will say I learned so much in hobby. So much. From the actual way of constructing from all the personalities, the good & the bad drama. It was an amazing journing. If prison is to be at all corrective, it needs to invest more in hobby, the library – rec. If you want to stop negative behavior you need to replace with something positive. Hobby did that for me & nearly everyone else of course with the exception of “woodchuck”, an insane inmate who hid from the cops in a woodpile, but that’s another story. It’s hard to believe I’m ½ century old & every day is still a blessing. Still a miracle. Still a challenge.
Later.

82009

John in his new apartment

all photos by Matt Wild