figure i’ll play it safe and start with some old stuff. the following are far from current, but they’re the few that don’t make me cringe. baby steps, right?

An Open Letter to All and Sundry
Fall 2003

He called us ‘efficient misfits.’ But he wasn’t there when the big old moon filled every corner of the room and you unwittingly unearthed a glorious loophole in the code I’ve so carefully constructed for myself. All at once those misfits, my misfits, were basking in that bright and pale light and I saw for the first time the exquisite complexity of our landscape. Perhaps Mr. Miller’s hand didn’t shake when he drew his horizon line, but ours has that delicate quiver of vulnerability that sends us soaring far beyond efficiency.

He wasn’t around to witness that determined glow rising to the surface, like it or not, as we meandered off the path and stumbled upon that wide open summer music festival of a field. Or maybe it was an orchard, with those big flaming persimmons just begging to be used as ammunition. The juicier the better, watch out they leave their mark.

He says we’re too caught up in efficiency to concentrate on mastery. But he hasn’t seen your face in profile the way I do, or heard the silent orchestra that surrounds you even in your sleep. I’d waste an hour, an afternoon, a lifetime with you, with them, with us… yet I’d still wake up wondering why these thoughts always come to me on an airplane. I’ve never been able to sit still, all those mighty markings below, that gossamer overlay over all that we claim to know. You’ve got to reach out and punch it – punch hard! – to find out that it’s not so translucent. But look a little closer and you’ll see those concentric rings emerge.

So efficiency, after all, is the least of our worries. Perhaps we’re not getting anywhere, but to stand still like the hummingbird is to create one hell of a whirlwind. The lucky ones spin straight for center – joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware of how far they’ve got to fall.

(All references to Henry Miller are respectfully robbed.)

Transition
May 2005

angry and retreating. that was the wave that swept me away today. in an ironic twist i’ve been doing exactly what i hate – grasping, testing, scrambling to get the message across. the range of responses is what makes me feel like a whore. she yawned. he patronized. another nodded and smiled then changed the subject. so i’ve started looking at everyone’s faces. examining the details. because at best there will be a glimpse of recognition when we cross paths again. anything more will be pretense, but that moment of familiarity – a fleeting memory of a shared era – that means something, right? otherwise i’m wasting my time. “the walls don’t apply to you,” i said. but how many exceptions can we make?

my brother told me about an “i don’t care about your blog” t-shirt he saw the other day. so naturally i went and set one up. game on.