it is
HOT
outside
the air is thick
to breathe
i’ve started sweating
at the elbows
and even i
am getting
uncomfortable
[but i’d still rather be outside,
though in the shade or breeze,
than inside where the a/c has been blasting
so hard, i start shivering…
shivering!
in the summertime!]
[maybe that’s a reason
to move to
paris…]
i constantly want to organize
but it seems damn near impossible
but i know that the impossibility
has more to do with the vastness
the number of things there to organize
and if i start now
then maybe, maybe the extent of things
the number added
would simply fall into the organization
neatly
wouldn’t that be
nice?
[but i know it is far more likely
the organization will spill over
into the chaos of the rest of the house…
how to organize with
limited place
without throwing everything
out
and starting all over again?]
a rainbow octopus
crocheted
just for me!
[i can be such a
parody of myself]
[but i’m not mad about it
because i got a
crocheted rainbow octopus out of it!]
i’m feeling
a
type
of
way
and i don’t necessarily know
what type of way that is
but at least i know why
change
and staying the same
change is
show ending
kip starting a brand new job
[that, granted, is not in france
but still, a big change]
change is
going back to things
circus
friendships
that may have paused
while i was so damn busy
change is
fixing up the house into something i
might want to make [and perhaps film]
physical projects inside
[and make room to have it so that
kip feels at home in our home
as well/still]
and staying the same is
having a mess
as usual
and being too open for my own damn good
and not knowing how to interact in social
[and non-social] situations…
i wish there was an instruction manual for living
[but, let’s be honest, would i follow it?
or would i deem it too ‘societally normative’ and
literally and/or figuratively throw it out the window
or
or
would i want a societal manual just to decide
what is for me and what is not?
and that begs the question
even if i read
and intended
to follow, would i actually be able to
or would i still fall back into
what i know/feel best
which is how i act
and i just am who i am
and that’s all that i can be
and i needn’t be worrying myself so
about all of this?]
and the conclusion of this poem is that
change happens
and sameness happens
and there are no instructions for life because
we are all just who we are
and that is all we [probably] ever will be
and that is ok.
Pride
not a sin
not a parade
not an opportunity to buy rainbow things
not just a march
not just a month
not just a gathering of community much needed
but
a vibe shift
another word for joy
a holding society through a season of change
a riot
a protest
a holding society’s feet to the fire when it comes to what is deemed
acceptable
and what is not
a lifeline
a party
but only if all are included together
a personal curiosity
a way to show support and empathy
a reconfiguring of societal acceptance
no longer as what is wanted
but as our society
holding the power
and saying to the “majority”
you cannot cannot cannot make decisions
for the most downtrodden —
it is morally reprehensible when the most alone of us
are not
lifted
up
Pride is a way to lift each other up
and if that is not what is happening
i want no part in it
[if you are in the nyc area, go march in the
Queer Liberation March
today]
writing before 7
writing before i’m fully awake
writing before breakfast
before coffee fully takes effect
before i know what my mind is doing this day
but i also know
later today
i’ll have no desire to write
or
the desire will be there
but the motivation
the actually action
will cease
so morning writing it is
with its
imperfections
and sleepy word choices
and distractability
at least i’m sitting here
writing
that’s more than i can say for
the rest of my day
7:13 am
any thirteen gives me joy
gives me hope
gives me strength
gives me
smiles
it can be the date
or the time
or a number just randomly up somewhere
but
every time
i see a thirteen
anywhere
i smile just a little wider than before
and think to myself
‘maybe
just maybe
i can keep going’
[if i live past 100
i only only want to if i can get to
113]
i wish i could think of all the words i can’t think of right now
i wish i could recall all the vocabulary that’s in my head
but they’re stuck behind sticky mind-doors
where the mental wood has warped over the years of trauma
and protecting myself against trauma
the maze in my mind
simply to find
a fucking synonym
is atrocious
[i measure out how detrimental it is to the poem
if i should sit and think, and perhaps get lost in my own thoughts
or stop and look it up on the internet, and thereby lose the spell i cast
on my own poetry being sans-internet-influence,
or ask my kip
or set a reminder to go back and check
at a later time…
usually i set a reminder in the way of brackets around one word
and hope i can find the exact alternate
i thought i could think of
at the time of writing]
teaching —
as a child, i gave gifts
and thank you cards
to many [most?] [all?] of my teachers
[of course with my parents’ help]
but i kinda forgot that was a thing that could be done
as i got older, and effort became more effortful,
it was my job to just get through school, writing
notes was something kids did who had their shit together
[or at least both parents living and/or relatively sober
enough to help with the logistics of it all]
and since school, i’ve wished i could be the kind of person
who gave cards to everyone involved in a play, or wrote
christmas cards at the end of the year, but i think i got
into the habit too soon of seeing it as an overwhelming task,
so i leave the physical notes out, and just try to tell people
in person
in the moment
when i’m thankful for them.
but
i suppose i made an impact
[or at least these kids have their parents’ help and reminders]
[and money]
enough to get three cards
three gift cards
three thank you notes
[and one gorgeous painting]
and i will treasure each one
for as long as i can
because each one
[even the one that just says
‘thank you for the pizza. love ya dawg’]
were a mark of thinking of me
[as i’ve thought of them
when lesson planning and stressing and looking back and enjoying]
and i’m thankful for them
and it’s just a beautiful circular pattern
of thinking
and thanking
and i hope they [and their parents]
know how much
i appreciate them
all
the quiet of the wee hours
the hours after all obligations have ended
and most humans have already gone to sleep —
those are the sacred hours for many a theatre-maker/
artist/
performer/
writer/
night-owl —
i used to worship at the feet of
two
and three am
but something changed in my internal workings;
was it a global pandemic?
or some genetic sleeper cell that had been waiting
all along to detonate?
or a combination of happenstance and physiology
all in one?
i can no longer own the title night owl
i am solidly
early
bird
i now hold in my heart my quiet, special time
of 5 and 6 and 7 am
when everyone
[and the night owls especially]
still dream in soft beds —
i am awake and working on
myself
and my own mind
and writing and writing before the world
churns again
the quiet of the wee hours
can be anyone’s,
whomever needs them
night owl
early bird
and anyone in-between
the hours can be religious in nature
or secular if you need no belief
but the sacredness comes from
inside
the sacredness comes from
what you
need
kipventures 