Saturday, March 10, 2012


I have gotten a bit carried away with making things happen.

     Now I am bleeding,
     my mouth especially.
              —Linda Norton

But I’ve never been in a fist fight.  A rite of passage, per my
father.  An appropriate and meaningful stepping stone to
manhood.  Although I have been chased around my own apartment
by a person wielding a broomstick.  And I have... ... ... ...

Feeling ... not so good?  A little down?  I want to be able to look
hopefully at the future.  My outlook is generally on the plus side,
right?  And I live almost every moment with a metaphorical
encouraging nudge (for me and the growing number of folks I...)
and a slobbering grin.  It seems to work.  It’s incomprehensible
walking around in a cloud of negativity.

Brunch on Saturday with Chris who talks about attending a fight recently
in Thailand.  Kids.  Talking about what a bloody mess it was (I picture
cockfighting, a ‘sport’ to which an uncle of mine has considerably
given.  Kevin Hurley, a classmate from 1st thru 12th grade, who committed
suicide some time ago, and some guy I forget, stirring up a whole lot of dust
behind the Circle M at lunch break back in high school.  My father’s eyes glued
to Muhammad Ali on television.  Tying a tooth to a doorknob and slamming the
door just to get the damned thing out of my mouth.)....

The mouth of a penitent liar.

I’m sorry.  These limbs forget the bloodshed they’ve caused.  Stupid limbs.  Brilliant
limbs.  Whichever the case, I will not be blind.  War is inevitable.  It’s a lousy day. 
I still hope for tomorrow.