Hurt (An Ode)

With all we share,

through the relating of past struggle and triumph,

having experienced a spiritual kinship,
an almost undeniable mating of our souls,

intellectually, rhapsodically, certainly emotionally, especially humorously,

I'll always hurt in a measurable way

because I'll never be able to touch you as I've already touched you in every other way.

I mean no offense nor vulgarity by this observation,
for I honor and respect you far too strongly.

At the top of a rocky climb there's a grassy point where you stand,

but I can only see you and talk to you from the perimeter,

for I cannot tread upon the grass.

For a devoted friend and a romantic man, this would be unbearable.

I'm relieved to be stronger and more humble than the average devoted friend and romantic fool,

for there remains a bearable hurt.

It's More Than Miles We Cover On The Railroad

The seasonal fragrances, the crispness of the late year breezes, the drudging weight of the high summer sun, the crystalline eternity of the blue stars surrounding you in the night sky, the reassurance you're given when the long darkness ends with the coming of the warming, promising dawn.

Through landscapes wondrous and vast, radiant, arid summers and kaleidoscopically-colored autumns, time and life immeasurably lost but experiences inestimably gained, and somewhere during the rides, there are paychecks, lost hours, great loves, and if we're really lucky, laughter, as the dusks become day and after the twilights fall to black.

My Prayer (January 28, 2015)

I won't know what to say when suddenly her eyes look into mine. I'll curse the empty, unused spaces of time I recklessly and carelessly wasted throughout the previous minutes before when I wasn't desperately thinking of something clever to say.

All for naught, when comes the moment for which every man lives, most men stumble or fail, and in which this privileged, fortunate man will triumph, when her captivity of me begins as suddenly my eyes will look into hers. Intervals between seconds will be as immeasurable as the space between where she and I stand, our shared gaze more personal, more sensitive than if we were actually holding hands, invalidating the need to mention the Rogers-Astaire extravaganza my ridiculous imagination has already choreographed.

So here it is, the moment in which I, the peasant, could address her, the lady, ere the moment pass as she could find another worthier man to enchant... I will think of something appropriate to say, that would honor her stature and grace, that would respect, that would compliment, that would demonstrate the love my own dark eyes only conceal. I pray she wouldn't look away too quickly, before I finally find the words.

Well, it continues to be my prayer.

Why

October 26, 2014

Sometimes you ask why, but no answer satisfies. Other times you see the reason and want to share it with others, but no one wants to hear it, not really. There are times when you surface at last and, standing in the sun, find the silence is just as deafening and inescapable, and you're still asking why.

I'm...

I'm tired, and not just physically. I'm aging, and that's not merely a simplistic observation when it comes from one who's been an old soul since childhood.

I'm lonely, though I certainly don't discount my greatest fortune at being father to and being loved by the two greatest boys ever.

I'm sad, and not only because of the iniquity of people and the inequality of the system.

I'm disappointed, though I know shouldn't be surprised at continual stupidity, willful ignorance, and hurtful inconsideration.

I'm afraid, well, never, really.

I'm bored and boring, for the career I've chosen is bereft of true passion and because I've left the at best mediocre artist I once was indefinitely in stasis.

I'm impotent, and not just because those to whom I've given myself completely have selfishly, even contemptuously left, leaving my soul as purposeless and empty as my hands.

I'm angry, but not for any reasons pertaining to me that one might assume.

I'm aching, and not just physically.

I'm about to get called to work. Guess I'll make a sandwich.

Some Days

Some days I just want to sit quietly and lose myself in a book, as I have been.

Some days I want to find a woman and make love to her tenderly, as I never did in my youth.

Some days I need to sit and talk and laugh and cry and share with an old friend, though they're gone or busy or both.

Some days I find are best spent investing in big pockets of sleep, often sought yet not often obtained, and I'm grateful when they are.

Some days I feel like walking in the city, a gentle hum of breeze between buildings, a roaring cacophony of traffic throughout the streets.

Some days I wish I was sitting on a pier, an intermittent wind rippling the water's surface, the mild rumble of waves surrounding me, brushing through my ears.

Some days I just want to be there when the boys laugh themselves silly while telling stories.

This day I only wish I could hold her hand in mine, use the other one to delicately rake through her hair, never losing her gaze, always in her eyes.

Catching Up With One's Self By Writing To Another

September 1, 2014

It's a shared sensation, the watching of romantic movies, and also for me there are the times of a good book, a provocative story, or just a drive during those times when you're enjoying being alone but wouldn't be nice to laugh or hold hands with another person because you can. I understand what you mean about being grateful for your freedom and indulging in time and activity or even inactivity because you can - after all, we're the kind of spouses and parents that devote ourselves entirely to our spouses and children, so of course we're entitled. And those who love us, they also understand these things, but can't help wanting to encourage us to find someone quickly, probably because they know our devoted demeanors and think we'd be happier as such. To answer your first question, no, it isn't bad to not want someone now, for it's not only a time for repair and evaluation of self, but also a progressive time to re-know and renew yourself. You'll know when that's happened. If physical contact or tenderness is needed, and I don't mean your children, you'll know when and how to satisfy that as well. To answer your second question, it took a few months to calm myself down and quell the energy spent on divorcing and adjusting before I really felt loneliness hit me, and just under a year before I got to know someone new, which of course began heavily with sex and subsequently diminished rather quickly because we'd both rushed it - she just wanted a sex partner and I wanted a relationship. Our children met and we'd go out, but they were little and fortunately didn't make much impression. There have been a few women since her, the last one being the one with whom I really saw a realistic opportunity. But even with her, my focus never drifted from my boys and the influence/impact she would have with and on them. As I told the boys, she who I would consider or who would consider me would have to feel about them as I do, for I would do the same for her children - and if she doesn't, she's not the one for us, much less for me. I've gone out or been intimate with a few women since divorcing, and shared real life and time with two of them, but, (and it may sound particular or unreasonable, though I don't feel it is) these last three years and these days, I've completed the recuperation and evaluation I wrote about above and have been more with the boys as they're older now and at times in their lives when their emotional and physical progress toward manhood requires our collective attention. One thing they agree on, I recently discovered, they shared with me in their words - that they would like me to be with someone who's as great a parent and loving a person as I am, since "we're good, Dad, and we love you and we want you to be happy like us". I tell you, they're amazing.

What I Wanted and What I Want Is What I Refused to Be and What I Can't Have

After exhausting every search and every route, I know at last that you're alive, that you endured hell, that you're not the same woman you were, which is at once for the better and unfortunate, that you remain the most perfectly flawed and flawlessly perfect person I've ever met, ever touched and been touched by, and with whom I've ever connected and loved.

After exhausting every possibility and every reality, I know now as I did before that I'm also alive, having endured so much, and that you are the same woman you were, as desirable yet unattainable, which is at once for the better and unfortunate, and that you will remain the most perfectly flawed and flawlessly perfect person I've ever met, ever touched and been touched by, and with whom I've ever connected and loved.

(Never give those who seek to possess you the power; you're better than that.
Never give me who sought to be yours the hope; I'm better than that.)

http://youtu.be/BQZkA485V5Y

Observations at the Las Vegas Airport (2013)

In Las Vegas, as I sit at the gate awaiting boarding, I can't help but listen to the delightful little girl chatting with her father behind me, her darling squeaky voice rattling off her opinions about the silly people before us who obviously aren't winning at the electronic slot machines, yet they continue anyway, and don't they know these machines are electronic and probably programmed never to arrive at 777?

Her accommodating and loving father pacifies her, softly reassuring her that taking the chance at winning money is fun for adults, to which she retorts with sure conviction, "Son locos, Papà."
And her father and I smile at each other, nodding our heads.

One Kind of Inspiration

Tell me this classic blast from the past doesn't get your blood pumping, make you want to prove yourself, take on the world, vanquish evil, run ten miles, workout for hours, or, um, well, in my case, get out of bed and finally start the laundry. Hmm, oh well... FIGHT! ;)

http://youtu.be/ajGnfxEBfKk

Observations at A Citywide Science Fair (2013)

"Listen UP! You're gonna be sorry if you miss this ANNOUNCEMENT! It's 8 o'CLOCK! If you're a parent you need to leave the FLOOR! CHILDREN - you can't have any FOOD, you can't have any WATER! No electronic deVICES! If I CATCH someone with them, I will TAKE it! CELL phones - if I come by and see it, I will TAKE it! Don't sit on my TABLES! It's only four hours! You're YOUNG! You can STAND! I'm gonna go address the judges now. We'll try to get you out of here as quickly as possible! Until then, have FUN! Thank you!"

While the science fair administrator concluded his necessary but unnecessarily abrasive introductory speech, the infrequently-voiced but ever-ready adolescent in me wanted to call out a derisive "fuuuuuck you".

I probably shouldn't have had that sugary orange juice this morning.

At The Cinema

At the cinema, sitting before us, three rows down, a handsome father seated his three young children - his obedient, quiet middle son, his mildly energetic baby girl, and, assisting him with booster seats, opening treats, and a sippy cup, his eldest daughter, about ten or eleven, by Joaquin's estimation. The lights have dimmed, the Coming Attractions have begun, and as I observe them, I can't help relating to my boys how it doesn't seem so long ago they were so little as we did the same. Where it was one bittersweet, it's now very satisfying and endearing to see other fathers, other families, doing so well, working so closely, loving so much.

Joaquin

I love hearing Joaquin sing the many parts, the many harmonies in songs, particularly when it comes to those of The Beatles. That, and his insightful analysis of songs' lyrics and messages, show his gifts of a great ear and discerning soul. Always a blast singing along with that boy.

Subway At The Corner (2013)

Yesterday, en route to work, I stopped at my usual sandwich shop. Before I placed my order, the sandwich maker complimented me as one of his best customers, thanked me for my continued patronage, and further insisted my meal was on him. My polite decline was defeated by his sharing of a couple of past instances in which my gratuity helped him, after finishing his long, late-night shift, encountering gasoline issues and the like. I graciously accepted his generosity, honored by his kind and considerate gesture, and after receiving my lunch, continued to work, feeling positive, thankful.

This isn't self-approbation, I assure, nor is it simply a free sandwich. I relate this in recognition of a person's kindness, offered freely and without expectation or pretense, leaving me at once impressed and humbled. I hope we would all do as much for each other.

To A Old Friend

I miss you, my dear.

We must meet again one day, embrace like the old friends we are, eat and drink and laugh and cry about absolutely everything, and share our knowledge in person that we're better than alright and though miles and time separated us, we weren't alone along the way.

Hold me, right now, please, so strongly I want to hold you.

I'm here...

https://youtu.be/PqAP5ZA2Lkg

In Memoriam of A Co-worker (2014)

You know, you see the same people everyday, work with the same people everyday, get to know their stories, their origins, their personalities, their laughs, their demeanors, and even though you may not see every person you know and work with every consecutive day, when you do meet them and work with them again, it's like you can pick right up the conversation, the memory, the funny story, the grievance, the how've you been's, the good to see you's, the how's the family's, as if you'd just worked with them yesterday, despite the fact that seasons and years have passed over the same three hundred mile stretch of rail you all work and spend much life on since that last yesterday.

And then one day you learn you won't be seeing one of those familiar faces anymore, one many knew from the beginning, worked well and fondly with, who always had a great demeanor and nature, who you know everyone always thought and spoke well of and always will, and who you personally will lament and always miss, in spite and because of the fact that seasons and years have passed over the same three hundred mile stretch of rail you both worked and spent much life on.

Today's one of those unfortunate days for one of our own, and I say goodbye and thank you, Mr. Vigil. Thanks for keeping our way smooth and strong, that it let us all get home safe to our loved ones, season by season and year after year. Go tie up, my friend.

"...they shall be one with the man in the wind and the west moon;
...they shall have stars at elbow and foot;
though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
and death shall have no dominion."
- Dylan Thomas

My Chile Con Queso, Humbly Submitted

- Small can chopped green chiles, preferably Old El Paso
- Two to three jalapeños, chopped, no seeds (depends how hot you like it)
- Two to three green onions, sliced completely
- Small can of whole peeled tomatoes, cut them up in can and strain the juice
- Small jar of pimentos, diced
- 5 lb. block Velveeta

Cube the cheese into a medium/large saucepan. Put in tomatoes, pimentos, green chiles, jalapeños, green onions. Medium-low flame, stirring so as not to scorch and well-blended. Use Santitas tortilla chips - my favorite to use. :)

 

Ode to Women I've Known and Loved (2013)

To you who left, I was the one, though it brings me no pleasure knowing you're now alone.

To you who I sent away, you were the one, but I did what I had to do because you wouldn't and still haven't.

To the few of you with whom time and joy was shared and to whom I gave myself greatly and selflessly, and who still left because what I gave wasn't enough or because what we had you believed couldn't possibly be real, it's disappointing to see and hear you're still looking or, if you aren't, you're unhappy with the one you chose.

To the many of you who've credited me as the trustworthy, reliable, forthright, loving friend who other men supposedly aren't or enigmatically can't be like, yet stop short of selecting me because I don't fit the physical ideal while the multitude of good-looking losers somehow continue to touch the part of you I can't, I can only offer amazement at the time you've wasted, both yours and mine.

And about the one who's writing this, who's never said so aloud but has always known who he is, he is the one and could've been your one, but is now only the one you missed.

This night seven years ago, the lights went out in the apartment. The candles I lit shone on the faces of my beautiful little boys and illuminated my reality, then and now - in this small space is a whole universe.

An Update On The Boys To Their Mother (2013)

The boys are doing fine. Johann and I drink cafés latte and discuss girls in middle school and computer engineering undergraduate studies at M.I.T. His freehand artwork is improving impressively and, since sharing his character creations online, others are drawing their own interpretations of his work. Joaquin and I play music on his new keyboard, discuss the poetry of Beatles lyrics and that a girl he's long liked seems to like him in return. His freehand artwork is impressively expressive yet abstract and, since sharing with us his deeper beliefs on things in the world generally as well as from his private emotions, I continue to be amazed at his confidence and depth of character.

Late Night Thoughts On Railroading (2014)

The tranquil and existential nature of railroading is, for me, at once a leisurely reflection and an analytical study of the soul and substance of this humble, impassioned and beleaguered proletarian poet, and an amazing vehicle for observing the indescribably awesome wonder of the multi-hued climates, and the historically textured, emotionally threaded tapestries of land and sky.

In my travels, there have been valuable lessons, rousing laughs, a few close calls, and songs, so many songs, of course. But her, the one I'll never see again - I see her always in every cloud and star, selfishly relish her in the blazing heat, tenderly caress her in the biting cold, regretfully miss her as the leaves turn, wish for her as I sail into the black.

And every day, another train...

A Plea To All Friends (May 2015)

My dear friend, please, I need your help, I need your energy.

Sometime today, right now if you can, take your shoes and socks off.

Look up the classic rock song "Never Been To Spain" by Three Dog Night, on YouTube (this link might work: https://youtu.be/dm6qw_yeo6o ) or on any music source you enjoy, take a deep breath, loosen your shoulders, then crank it loud and let yourself go.

We should do this more often, I think, just move and be happy, and I hope you will, my friend. For me. For you. I rarely ask for anything, but I could really use your help in feeling better right about now.

:)

February 14, 2015

I don't wish anyone the awareness years after of the moment when their lives were literally, actually at a life-affecting fork in the road, for they might then feel that they should've chosen their first inclination or stuck with what they had or with whom.

For me, the awareness is more the memory of a handful of specific moments in which I actually thought "this is a turning point" and either went with my gut or with an analyzed decision, the outcomes of which I might ought to have chosen or decided the other option, thus promoting not only "what if's" but "maybe should've's" now that I am who I am and where I am. These aren't regrets, given the joy of my children and the pleasure of certain relationships, simply moments in time where diverging roads appeared notably.

Guess that's what may constitute "midlife crises" in some men, but mere reflection in me.

Johann

I started measuring Johann's height against a custom-monogrammed board with little oval cutouts for photos, back in March 2002. He was not yet two years old and measured two feet, eight inches. He's recently thirteen and five foot two, having grown three and a half inches alone in ten months. In the beginning, my only greatest concern was that he be healthy, and other concerns have replaced that and others along the way. With everything he's accomplished and everything he is, my only greatest concern is that he is happy in his life, this soon eighteen year old, six foot, smiling little boy of mine.

While Picking Up Johann from His Last Day at Middle School (2014)

 As I observe a grassy knoll covered with middle schoolers embracing, high-fiving, snapping pictures, laughing and weeping, and running to each other hastily so as to make sure no one's "goodbye" and "have a great summer" is missed, I'm reminded of an equally timeless observation by Stephen King: “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, did you?"

From Joaquin Campos, Age 9 (2014)

Anything is possible with love. Amazing is not empty and love will never be close to sadness and despair. - Joaquin Campos

Response to a Friend Concerning The Importance of Two-Person Crews on Freight Trains, August 1, 2014

Brother, thank you.

Your first point is a popular one - many folks remember five-person crews and the last twenty years has seen three-person crews continue in railyard jobs and industry jobs, because of practicality and safety, thank goodness. The two-person crew arrangement has been the norm for long-distance freight trains these last twelve years.

Next, your observation of medical emergency is a very important one, also shared by many who learn of this topic - and man, it's very real, given that though our trips seem lengthy and often uneventful, when something does occur, it's instant, emergent, and in the middle of nowhere.

Third, you wouldn't think the income of one trainman or engineer would have an effect on company profitability at large, yet our railroad's operations population (conductors, brakemen, switchmen, engineers) numbers just under 54,000 - and not a shift goes by when many of our pay claims for work performed and services rendered are delayed pending further investigation or verification, or outright declined, despite being supported by labor contract (overtime, road crews performing yard work, yard crews working their rest days). Imagine the sums resulting from such arbitrary nickel-and-dime'ing of 54,000 employees, or hell, the outright implementation of advancing technology justifying the removal of half such workforce and their salaries, individual and family health benefits, contractual benefits (paid leave days, vacations), and retirements.

Lastly, my friend, I thank you for taking the time not only to read this but to take it to heart and share it. This isn't your father's railroad, nor even the one I hired out under sixteen years ago - a corporation now stereotypically about bottom line, even at the cost of its very employees. Like I tell folks, yes, I'm sure it's difficult to sympathize with us when it's well-known we make a good living and all, and unions this and that, all the popular tripe -but now our professionalism, our very Americanism is being nickel-and-dime'd into submission, Ken.

I still wave to the kids sitting atop their parents' shoulders as they wave from cars and crossings, parents who still enjoy the romance of the rails, the Americana of movement, progress, and tradition, despite the policies enacted by white-collars and lawyers who've never even seen a train, and to whom its workers are expensive nuisances or replaceable cogs in the machine, not men and women, fathers and brothers like you and me, trying to provide for our families and a little pride in ourselves. A young general manager at a meeting one day who was fed up at hearing our safety issues pointed out to my father, "Yeah, yeah, Joe, but hell, at least you've still got a good job!" My father calmly replied, "They used to be great jobs."

Resolved, March 26, 2014

I've resolved the desire in my heart to find someone to be with, including the prospect of marriage, and I think I'm done. It feels like an unanswered issue has been put away at last. I think I'm better now, and it's a better road to travel, practically, spiritually, presently and for the near-future. With several issues resolved at last, I'll employ my time and energy on my sons and their lives and minds; they're doing so well, thankfully. I'm very glad, dedicated, hopeful.

At The Diner, cont.

Twenty minutes later, I reread my previous post, realizing (knowing) to my understandable chagrin and disappointment that I've written variations on that theme before, that I'll be in that setting the next nineteen years till retirement or death, and though I live presently and work toward another day, I wish to hell I was eighteen again. That's enough of this shit.

At The Diner

May 2014

Nearing 3 a.m., alone at the greasy spoon, the barstool right before the always-burning stove, overcooked bacon and perfectly scrambled eggs right before me, The Shirelles on the p.a. asking if you'll still love them tomorrow, the chilly breeze outside blowing sand and time away.

Steps

There are times that such a walk is the longest walk, and saying hello is the hardest word to say.

But instantly following those times comes an unexpectedly welcome realization - that no matter that it took all your energy and dignity to carry yourself through that walk, the walk wasn't really that far, and despite the many emotions, drafts, rehearsals, and scenarios you'd prepared for just that moment, there's amazing relief in finally saying that hello.

Fortunately, that's when the hard part's over.

http://youtu.be/zlw636MK_ik

March 26, 2014

Sometimes we have something without truly knowing what we have.

Sometimes we hold something without knowing completely what we hold.

Sometimes we are given something without fully appreciating what we are given.

But that knowledge usually comes when we realize what we have lost.

I Know Many of These Descriptions Match Many of You, Which Makes Me Your Most Fortunate Friend (July 14, 2014: Work In Progress)

One of you is my beloved sister and hopefully comrade-in-arms, as devoted to her angel as I am to my sons, till we celebrate our well-earned retirement twenty years hence.

One of you is a childhood classmate and kindred spirit who, after many roads, detours, trials, and DIY decisions, I rediscovered happy and happily in friendship and laughter here.

One of you deserves more than everything she's received, having worked so hard and dedicatedly for her three children and herself, and still embodying what's best in mothers and friends.

One of you shares my earliest classroom memories, having grown up just up the street from me, having moved far away though not in my heart and memory.

One of you remains one of the coolest girls I ever admired and engenders in me great gratitude and gladness for the stunning professional and model woman she is to that lucky bunch of boys, her husband and sons.

One of you is the first of three Muses on this humble list, as a musician whose own dedication to the art is as inspiring as the encouragement she continues to offer me in my own arts.

One of you is my actual sister, though to leave her description at that would be as tacky as calling Chanel a seamstress - she's as devoted an aunt to my boys as any true mother would be.

On A Quiet Night in June of 2014

On a quiet night like this one, the candles almost burned out on the mantel, classic rock ballads lingering from the other room, an undeniably empty feeling defying an otherwise undeniably filled soul, I have to call you. But I know you don't care for such things, so I'll honor your preference and write this to you - I'll never sufficiently offer how sorry I am that I wasn't what you wanted for your life, the unhappy realization that I might once have been but then wasn't, that I'm not happier about how our lives are even though they seem to be going alright, and worst, that no matter how much time has passed, everything about our boys hasn't been able to be shared because of what we've done. I'm sorry this wasn't worth it, and for how I reacted following, despite it being such a long time ago now. And while you needn't ever tell me if you ever do, I hope you forgive me.

Personal Interpretation of Sensuality (Mature)

Starting with kissing and licking a woman's body, starting from the lips, tender, gentle coaxing of our lips, inviting more, then down the line of her neck, delicately raking my teeth along her tensing skin, her sighs tunneling in her throat beneath, while my fingertips trace her outline equally down her shoulders to her forearms, goosebumps and hairs on end, as my tender, gentle kisses have also moved down from her open, hotly breathing mouth to the delicious skin covering her heavy heartbeat, lightly brushing my lips over her breasts, teasingly around the aroused nipples with my lips, my tongue, my teeth.

I'll kiss widely and more deliberately down her stomach, my hands ever as gentle but undeniably more anxious in their intrepid adventure, tickling their fingernails down her spine, discovering her supple rear, their palms squeezing fully, strongly, yet reassuringly, as her legs gently open, aware of my face and its hot breath now down there and allowing me her fragrance, and, after the same light brushing of my lips along each inner thigh, my hands abandon their supple massage and I begin to work my fingers around and along the labia, inviting it open for my mouth to partake of.

In this manner, slowly and deliberately, caringly, I idolize a woman's body overall, before ravaging it, with deep fingering and enthusiastic licking of the vagina and clitoris, drinking from her there as though I'd die without such delectable nourishment.

I love the sounds a woman makes, the rhythm and pulse of her breathing matching exactly to her body moving and rocking. The smell of her heating skin, the taste of her there, inside and on my skin as I kiss, explore, discover every surrounding area, every part of her.

I'm considerate of what's too much, or perhaps she isn't ready yet and would rather just have sex, which is understandable. But if she permits me, I enjoy holding her hips firmly, since they're moving about wildly, to keep her lower body still and I bury my face, using it all to stimulate her, to consume her. Encouraging a woman to feel, bringing her to climax, her building heat to repeated expression, is much more important to me than my own.

I'm surprised at myself for sharing these thoughts tonight, though I do prefer being articulately respectful in every situation always, which I think I do succeed at mostly. Most men, I know, are more concerned with fucking outright, but the patience and attention given to lovemaking is much more erotic and satisfying than simply coming. While all this is happening, for example, I'm always massaging some part of her body with my hands, or running my hands all over her, constant warmth, constant overall stimulation. I don't think men have that kind of patience, and I know some women don't either, but there are many more women who want to feel good all over, and I cherish those generous moments, so few but astoundingly exhilarating they've been in my life.

Anyway, that's what I like.

June 11, 2014

Riding under the southwestern azure skies through already blistering heat that emblazons even the fullest turquoise greasewood to wilting dryness, and in the blinding yellow-red wind that forces my beleaguered ancient eyes shut, I see only in monochromatic, alluring wonder an indescribable and absolute beauty, her face an ethereal portal from the harsh world outside, her wise hands holding life and grace, hair the undeniable feelings of hearth and dreams, and her gaze, her gaze... There's never been more meaning in all the sensations and sounds and colors of this life in this world than in one look from her vital, rescuing gaze.

May 24, 2014

Sometimes it feels like I'm walking through a hazy dream.

As I walked out of that little motel room, my home away from home here in this little railroad town of Bethlehem, and walked through the surprisingly chilly daybreak air and across the desolate parking lot to the greasy spoon, I had just enough energy to marvel at the simplicity, if mundanity, in which my working midlife operates. The grayish peach-pink of the coming dawn making visible the crystalline mist that teases my face reinforces the belief of walking through this hazy dream, instantly replaced though not unwelcomed by the bright, tired cheer of the "good mornings" by the locals at the diner, their warmth outdone only by the enormous, ever-burning gas griddle that centers the place and our lives for the moment. Smokey Robinson on the overhead speakers melodically setting a mood of what it's like to lose love, an elderly waitress shares photos of her grandson with a younger, politely impatient dishwasher, all reminding me of my unnecessarily reminded wishes to have a day off with my beloved boys and perhaps sometime later be a most fortunate fellow and catch my aged reflection in the glistening eyes of a brown-eyed girl...

Boy, the bad coffee feels so good going down, makes me happy to know it isn't a dream. Well, maybe not all of it.

Times I Should've Taken That Left Turn At Albuquerque, No. 6

September 1990, having declined the invitation from a beautiful, beloved woman and friend to escort her in crashing another high school's homecoming dance. Though happily our relationship remains strong through trial, joy, memory, and heartbreak these many years later, something might've happened that night, perhaps, in my middle-aged but boyish belief, something wonderful.