"- don't be so quick to knock it. People don't usually part with the weird shit they personally know because they know how easy it will be to punch holes in. Now I'm tellin you somethin. It's for you to poke through the soup and find the meat." John Patrick Shanley's 'the dreamer examines his pillow'

Saturday, February 25, 2006


Neil: anger. why? racism. FUCK. you are amazing.
Jennifer: love. Why? I can't see her, so no complexities crowd my mind and she is free to be simply love. I wonder if absence really does make the heart grow fonder, or if it pulls back the veil of self-protection and deception we subtly (subconsciously?) put up when we're physically with someone?
Nathan: Insanity. obviously no explanation needed; he understands. a long talk and a good wrestling match would be greatly beneficial.
Kirsten: guilt. why? you wrote to me and i cared so much i couldn't find the words to put down to say the right thing, so i left you without any words. Once again, the desire to perform well, to do the right thing ATE the possibility of real human contact and gaining something from my mistakes. story of my life.
myself: grey. blurred lines. not enough courage to hope for clarity... maybe it's better this way? foot is asleep.
elysia: desire. why? She does. I love it. Inspired by her desire to "suck the marrow out of life," as it were. Desire to express how much i love that as well as her insecurities and quirkiness. Reaching out a hand to you...
mother: anticipation. why? can i make a long term relationship work? ours is constantly growing and changing or doing the opposite of growing, whatever that is. dying? ew. my symbol of a commited, stuck-together relationship with all the highs and lows our pettiness and larger souls have to offer. and a lot of fuzzy in between times. Can't wait to see her and find out how we'll fare this time. (spring breack in March)
The Gotter: hope? love, sexy, too sexy, stress, LOVE, enjoyment, excitement, what's inside? blue, ripped apart, life-dream, understand, lost with you. why? who the hell knows why we go through what we do? Good thing we do it anyway.
Lenny: where are you... why? i really want you out of the woods and into the picture with me. where are you? are you living? happyish? i can't stop caring about you. stop hoping i will.



yes!! there is great good in my world!!! beauty is everywhere - (microscope occasionally required, but entirely worth it)

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

my angels

on the way home from oregon last week.

#1 You know who you are…

#2 The woman in the seat next to me – both women, but especially the one on the right. You always know, the second you squeeze past your seat partner, whether they’ll be awkward, dead silent, anxious, talkative (or at least willing to talk), or any other variety of things, and I liked this woman immediately. Come to find out her second husband of 6 years died of brain cancer 3 months ago. She talked to me about God and how she didn’t believe in him until after her husband’s death – she said it makes her feel safer to believe there’s a plan. And she believes she was meant to be there for him in his last years. She said, the truth is, once you have a love like that (and “not everyone gets to love as truly and deeply as I did”) even if you lose it it doesn’t matter; you’ve been filled. You will always have it. She really loved him, too. She showed me a picture and I could tell by the deep, connected way she looked at it. We had a connection. There are just some people that are on the same wavelength as you; you just understand them on many levels without extra words or attempts. She was one of those people. She talked to me about her past and beliefs and gave me her People magazine to read and talked to me about The Alchemist, which she finished yesterday and I’m just starting today. She just opened up to me, and I had this insane strong desire to spill everything, to tell her all my questions and secrets. I knew she would handle them well. I could say anything and not feel judged at all. I got to see a picture of her daughter (several, actually) and I feel like I know the girl already. She told me it felt like her daughter was here when she was talking to me.

#3 The Hungarian woman at the terminal… I missed my connecting flight, figured everything out (Angel #4: Candyce Dixon, for picking me up at 10 pm to stay at her house… and driving me to the airport at 6 am the next morning) and I spotted some chairs marked “For Disabled Persons” or something like that. Of course, the long row of chairs was empty, but I figured I’d better play it safe and sit on the floor next to it, just in case 10 disabled persons dropped in and got pissed. Soon a naturally beautiful older woman with wisps of white curly hair dancing off her light wrinkled skin sat down with her 5 huge cases – I thought nothing of it, of course. Angels never have wings. And she scooted over to last seat in the row, right next to me, and looked at me with very intelligent twinkling eyes and a glorious accent, “you mind eef I seet here? I like to read, and there ees more, how you say, light? Ees lighter here.” And she talked to me for half an hour about her two month trip to Mexico to find work and how she’s flying back to Hungary and the frozen weather and her just married son (she missed the wedding) and the baby they just delivered. Her son was in the room and helped with the delivery. She’s very proud. She was glorious. I could look into her smart, real eyes with their intense flashes of humor for hours. And when I got up I said thank you. And I took her hands in mine and smiled. And she struggled to her feet and then she hugged me close, and said “eet was very nice to talk to you.” And smiled and pointed me towards the passenger pick up. Delightful.

Why did I write about these people I'll never see again and you have no significant interest in? Because they matter in that they changed the course of my life - my experience, my attitude, my outlook on humanity - for the better. Maybe I'll be able to do the same for some random young person when the time comes. If I'm open enough.