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| fourth of julyDespite daily provisions against loneliness
all were celebrating the fourth of July.
Motorcycles screamed on everyday streets
and all celebrated
by throwing firecrackers at my feet.
I was mocked by kids on cell phones--
o what a wonderful world!--
bridges lit for me alone to signify
and the radio towers
on the mountains are equally steadfast--
I learned dilligence from these lights--
but for myself
there was the distant crack
to make me wish I was a spider,
a sparkle of fireworks said hello
to me.
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| ten fingered hand (1983) by joe weilIt was a terrible year
when Micheal Jackson was God,
and Diana Ross was his mother.
Forget getting laid.
I worked a factory, grave yard shift,
came home at nine in the morning,
belched forth by the 58 bus,
opened a bottle of Becks
just to wash the steel chips from my mouth,
kissed the baby my sister pushed out
at 17. I got 4 hours sleep if lucky,
if the next door neighbor's husband's best friend
wasn't over, doing coke, banging the best friend's
wife--
and if he was, I'd lie there on the other side of the wall,
hearing her moan, the bed springs squeek, the head board
shake my crucifix. Sweet Chirst, I'd see her
lugging laundry the next day, and she'd wave.
On such mornings, I was
wide awake -- past All My Children, General Hospital,
past eyewitness news-- exhausted, horny, so lonely
I walked with a limp.
On friday nights, the men would drink and drug. We called it
Friday Night at The Emergency room..
They lost fingers, hands, crushed feet, tore their
lives on drill presses, lost their minds and wept
for want of the receptionist.
I was one of them. I have always been one of them.
I write to stay alive, to tear the veil from this covenant--
those nights when it would snow,
and I walked out on the loading dock at 2 am,
just to hear the silence, away from my machine,
the cold air biting my arms. I took a deep breath
and lived. I took a deep breath and sang
the song of my father-- the broken tune he knew,
the secret ghosts he walked with--
and I was grateful for the snow, and not even
the worst could have killed me
because my soul
was a ten fingered hand.
(stolen from joe's blog...)
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| unthwarted?so last week i was whining about losing an apt. to the landlord's alzheimer's. and yes, we did lose the apt. he forgot about us and rented it to somebody else.
and then he rented us a totally more awesome apt. for basically the same price!
not only is it bigger, better, it has an extra room!
i have a new bach pad.
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| thwarted!so my good friend ife and i were looking for apts in downtown binghamton. we found the perfect place right by the greyhound and just a few blocks where our church is looking to start doing some downtown ministry...great price, etc....we were planning on taking it, but just wanted to sit for a few days.
we figured no big deal...place had been empty a few months... we figured no biggie...
and you guessed it...
but, binghamton's a big empty town...hopefully we'll find someplace else.........
i don't know why i'm blogging this?
UPDATE...perhaps not yet...i just talked to the guy and there was a misunderstanding...perhaps an open window!
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| immensely depressedabout the state of the anglican communion today. first, the realization that canterbury is effectively toast as long as it continues to show it has no power to deal with TEC, and forces those who cannot stay in good conscience to seek shelter in africa...it's disorienting, really.
i'm surprised to find myself so affected, because i grew up in a "fakey fakey non-denominational bible church" as my catholic friends call it, and it never seemed a big deal to me to be "alone"...
but the realization that the communion seems to be truly crumbling (at least in structure, if not in spirit) has become profoundly depressing.
in the meanwhile, i have taken up some more painting. i'm not very skilled, you can tell, but i find it really relaxing.
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