Angst:
Stories that get mixed up, that feel out of place, that confuzzle the soul.
On the struggle with the existential meaning of writingOne of the toughest parts about being a writer/artist is doing the work. The nitty-gritty everyday work. The reason isn’t writer’s block or lack of time. There’s always time — everyday — for me to sit down and write. The reason — for me, and I am…
Before you can stand up for truth you have know if you can stand it at all. Let’s talk about an unscientific study I have been conducting all of my life. It has to do with truth-telling, and how much people really can’t stand the truth. By some fault or miracle of genetics and nurturing,…
For Karen, The Harbinger But baby I’ve been here before, I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya And I’ve seen your flag on the Marble Arch And love is not a victory march It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah Here…
We are all, always running away. I think at some point we have to accept that some people are not meant to stay still. They are always running away. But then again, who doesn’t? Why don’t we do it more? Just like we have to accept that some people don’t want children. Some people play…
I had 30 minutes in the car yesterday to think about what is waiting for us in the afterlife. It just so happens we were on the way to church. The kids traditionally read their books while we drive, but there was no “we” this weekend. Colin was out of town. So I had some…
In reading the pile of reports the school sent over regarding my youngest child, I thought: that’s not me. On every occasion in parenting, I am reminding how very few people I encounter — whether as friends or acquaintances — who really understand me. They do exist, and they are ridiculously loyal. But the by…
It’s a perfectly lovely, breezy day, and I’m walking my daughter to school and taking the dog for a stroll. Conversation surrounds whether the dog minds being on a leash and “Dogs have feelings too mom!” I’m feeling general anxiety I haven’t felt in weeks, frustration that ebbs over the general state of the world…
Let me be a jellyfish Brainless and glowing My beauty innate– Unquestionable, even, Since I’ve no amygdala for Shouting orders, no hippocampus Busily collecting Potential threats. Let me be a jellyfish, One of a tribe of Transluscent pancakes Mindlessly ganged around Jews cutting the Red Sea waves or Rubber-tubed tourists — Either way.
End of day lends itself to Gathering ephemera. Unsorted, a day succumbs. It’s all detritus and last-minute noise Eardrums ringing, hippocampus Vibrating. The occurrence of Night surprising as a summer cold, As easily forgiven for the rest it gives. End of day, casting off aspersions Like stitches, or old dogs– What agreement did we conjure…
It’s true I have trouble with you, With everyday compassion, Because It means forgiving the person Who drops poop bags to the ground– Listening between sarcastic comments for Pain and fatigue. Everyday compassion the Off-gassed namesake of Life. I’ll have to be More than OK with rigid people– Got to See myself in them, to Assume…
Here is the look of the Midwest in a summer storm. To me, this landscape is not only the most familiar, it is the most comforting. How can a sky look so forbidding — so menacing and beautiful — but we are not allowed to do so? I was 14 and in my first year…
Lately I’ve been having some trouble writing. Particularly here on my blog. I suppose I have blog writing block. I am going to write about that today, to pass through it a bit. Feel free to skim or skip over this post if that isn’t your thing. The trouble with blog writing block is the…
“…Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” — Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day“ Life is wild. Though… It is sometimes hard to see it. Especially since life can masquerade as being quite mundane. Get up. Go to work. Go to bed. Go to work again. Make food.…
My mother was not sentimental. She saw the world in a very pragmatic way. If you were not feeling happy, well… just cheer up. If you were feeling ill… well, wait awhile. Things were bound to change. I wished I’d asked my mom more questions about her own level of self-awareness. Did she think about…
The deluge came out in the general direction of Ridgefield artist Randi Jane Davis this past weekend at City-Wide Open Studios. Her painting (above), called “Three Blind Men” (in private collection) wasn’t the only wonderful piece of work I’d seen that day. But it was the one that reignited my feelings about aloneness. So Ms. Davis…
