Wednesday, October 29, 2014


It’s so relaxing to sit in the park in the sun, noticing the cool air on my face and listening to the gentle sound of the leaf blowers. There’s this place in my heart that I call my heart, is that what it is, mine? So often I think of something so important that I need to write it down right away, but then when I finally have a chance I just don’t have the energy anymore. Maybe this is my heart, beating, a real estate listing, rain-soaked, illegible. I spend half my time in Seattle trying to leave, I mean half my time in my head, trying to live. The other day I realized that awareness practice I learned where you try to sense into your center, your core, and you ask what’s meaningful, I’m still answering from my head. If my head isn’t my heart then I’m in trouble. I mean I’m in trouble. If leaving is a kind of living, then maybe thinking about leaving is living too. Sometimes I don’t know what will feel better

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Oh, look—a surprise interview for the Capitol Hill Seattle blog (with a cute photo)...

For me, I’m not interested in writing in the kind of linear mentality that most writing adheres to. Or the kind of narrative — that sort of tidying up — where everything has to come to some kind of closure. So, for me, I write against closure, I write against linear clarity. And then in that sense, finding some other kind of truth.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

This city that is and isn't

I love it when the weather forecast says chance of rain, and it’s already raining. I want to throw something out the window, and watch it grow. First I think maybe the end of these dandelion greens, but there are no seeds. Then I realize oh, my life here so far. Have I learned anything?

When I was a kid, I had a cactus that hurt me, so I threw it out the window. By the end of the summer, this cactus had multiplied all over the garden, and this gave me hope. Kind of like when I was younger, and I cut a worm into pieces, and then there were two worms, maybe even three. Except then I realized that worm was dead. I had killed it. I didn’t want to kill anything ever again. I stepped over anthills, and when I could I watched the ants build entire cities, wondering what I looked like to them.

This city that is and isn’t a city, but I guess that’s what every city is becoming now, a destination to imagine what imagination might be like, except for the lack.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Recognition of the gasp

Sometimes I write something, and then I have to think about it more. Sometimes I think about something, and then I have to write about it more. There is so much potential joy in the dynamic between writing and thinking, thinking and dreaming, dreaming and fear, fear and loss, loss and writing. I thought of changing joy to something else, but I think I do mean joy. Isn’t this the point of writing, the gasp of recognition, the recognition of the gasp?

Saturday, October 04, 2014


         So I went to this movie I knew would be awful, just so I could critique it, but then it was so boring I couldn’t even stay. Meanwhile, the sun came out, the fruit flies have taken over my apartment, and there’s a tweaker couple arguing downstairs on a discarded sofa. The highlight of the movie was when I danced to Chopin in the hallway for 20 minutes, because I couldn’t bring myself to go back into the theater. But then I missed the tearjerker ending—it’s a gay movie all the critics love so of course one of the main characters has to die.

         Outside my window, this tweaker has now set up a whole living room complete with lamp and end table, and now she keeps folding and unfolding her clothes. I know that feeling. In the old days, the gay character had to die at the end for the movie to be made, but now I guess it’s for the reviews.


But how did they get the money to make this movie? All these fancy actors, maybe they didn’t notice the script was so bad because they were so proud to represent two older gay men, a married couple. I guess this movie teaches us that the liberal imagination is no imagination at all. In this way death might be the only logical ending. Downstairs, now this tweaker is changing into heels. No, they’re too small. Cute, though—polka-dotted.

This movie starts with feet in a bed, and classical music, it’s a situation comedy I mean drama but none of the situations make any sense because the script is so bad. Did I mention the script? No, don’t torture me.

Soft-focus, a gay wedding, everyone is so happy, everyone is so so happy, everyone is so so so happy. The music teacher loses his job because it’s a Catholic school. So they have to sell their co-op for a million dollars to move in somewhere cheaper, which doesn’t make sense because there isn’t anywhere cheaper, and wouldn’t they realize this after living in New York for more than 40 years? Are you crying yet?

Now the guy who was yelling at the tweaker on the sofa is back with their dog so he can yell at her some more. Wait, how did a music teacher and a retired painter buy a million-dollar co-op five years ago, anyway? Don’t ask any questions, this is about older gay men, it’s groundbreaking.

“I still believe in Jesus Christ as my Savior, but I think I’d like to pray on my own.” This is an actual quote from the movie, the music teacher is reading the priest. Anyway, I went to the movie because I found out the neighbors of this gay couple are gay cops who like to party a lot. They also like Game of Thrones. While this movie is busy normalizing God and police brutality, notice how cute those cops are, okay? I wonder how they afford their million-dollar co-op. The narrative of gay assimilation just gets scarier, more and more normalized under the conventions of other conventions. But somehow in the last few minutes this tweaker has managed to change into a whole different outfit, including a beautiful scarf over her shoulders, and those heels. Now she’s the one yelling.