so late its turning early
dawn is breaking night
surely you recall a moment
i was so fragile, you
turned away, i
didn't realize
didn't know it meant
you wouldn't stay

so fresh still bleeding
unclean untended unseen
seedling without sun leaning
hold your breath
here comes the morning light

i know you had to go
still, you stayed
i never would have left
had to walk away
i learn to pray as my last cigarette
turns to ash
because maybe i needed you
maybe i couldn't do
it alone, wasn't strong enough to keep us together
but i'm strong enough to hold my own

springs arrives once upon a song
on the winter worn valley of us
casting a path between peaks of bitter and sweet
on my knees, good time is hard to make
but better than hard time on my feet
frozen in one place

Sketches

Expanded 3/14/10

Music has always had great power in my life. Through music that is written by others I feel connected to the world and in that which I write, I feel whole.

Its a rare experience to hear music as its written. A rough sketch of what may be tossed aside forever or become something more. I have gotten into recording as soon as I put my pen down - sometimes I don't have the chord progressions finalized and I certainly don't know the words because sometimes they haven't been written. The melody (or lack thereof) is free flowing and still being defined. But most of all - I am still so connected to the song. After the rough sketch the distance becomes greater and greater and the process shifts from "get it all out" to "get it all right". I find these recordings intriguing and wanted to begin to share them. Feedback is welcome.

the story of what was

the truth of what has come before
slumbers between the bed of "i knew then"
and sheets of "in retrospect" woven
so quietly in the absence of light
i pretend its not there

truth's edges are soothed by time's grace
delicately composed layer by
harshly comprised layer deceives
for what is wrapped in the package labeled "survival"
is unfolded to reveal all the broken pieces
under rug swept

Quarterback

This is me as I have never been
Before - a paradox
After - of little concern

Arrival: I chose this for failing to choose

Life through erosion
Time flows inattentively
One move
Head turn - stand still
Eyes closed

Destination: of little importance

Acceptance: This is not destiny but
a neglected version of fate

I believe I am the quarterback
pity the lack of interference
Yet find the jersey hanging - dusty
startled to find not the uniform
but my own reflection

This is physical but exists outside of
its form - flourishes without containment
Fertilized by its root

Petrified by its company - mortified by
my inability to learn - wanting to think
this through - knowing it cannot be conceived

So I release - tiny thread by fragile thread
a way of life
that instead of that became this

Concealment

In a room without windows
dissected by a curtain - concealing
a woman with a story
not unlike my own
yet I crave separation

The clock pushes through time
air is thick and progress
is in short supply
freely given information has suffered extinction
while I stared at a black television screen
waiting for answers that were not mine to have

Measure This

Surrounded by pastel walls
Everything in its proper place
Except all that is inside
Which feels chaotic in this sanitized space

Because my blood is alizarin crimson
Coursing through cerulean veins
This venue's lacking volume
A dynamic that cannot be traced

Measure this is you may
The distance from here to then
Rest assured this is not who I am

Surrounded by experts
In whom I am asked to place faith
As they profess ignorance
Therefore my condition must be fake

I confess I am a little frustrated
As you search through your notes
Always failing to see my worth
Failing to see she loves me

Measure me if you must
But when it doesn't quite add up
Don't patronize me with lines
From your freshman textbook

I reside in a world of causation
Where lay many possibilities
There is room for inconsistency
That is more clearly framed as variety

Because sometimes blue is blue
And orange is only that
Yet when they come together
Brown is born without contradicting previous fact

Measure this if you can
If not - try again
I am losing ground
There is no option - a cure must be found

Measure this if you may
Measure me if you must
Measure this if you can
If not - circle back around again

This cannot be a permanent reality

Believe in Me, Cause I Don't Believe in Anything

Recently I have spent more time with medical professionals than I would care to and much more than I would care to admit. Something has gone wrong inside me and until now, I've desperately sought a cure. Perhaps this perception is less than accurate, perhaps I still seek a cure.

I was baptized Lutheran. I don't recall a time in my life when we went to church with any regularity. I cannot even remember consistently attending on holidays. My mother believes in God, but never discussed it much.

My parents used to tell me that when I was quite small, maybe around the age of two or three, we would go to church and I would turn to face the people behind me and snort like a pig. The pastor would stop his sermon to ask a nice black woman (the only black woman I knew, maybe one of 20 who lived in my hometown) who was somehow affiliated with the church to escort me downstairs and out of earshot. I always pictured the pastor doing this in a loving and comical way, but maybe he was annoyed. Perhaps it doesn't matter.

I treasured this story, of which I was the star of the show. I like to think its a natural talent to so captivate an audience. From this story I've subconsciously carried around 2 ideas that I held to be viciously true: A.) As a small child I was completely adorable and B.) Church was not the place for me.

I think middle school is a treacherous for anyone. I've always thought it was worse for me. Perhaps this is true or just a sign of my youth. I've yet to abandon my desire to be unique. I felt more unique that year than any other I've experienced. Strained relations with my peers crushed much of who I had been before then and are still blamed for who I have become.

I've always been a solutions oriented person. So in an effort to resolve the growing dissonance in my life at that time (as well as having heard that it was the scholarly thing to do) I started reading the Bible. My mother bought me my own study bible. It was covered in geometric symmetrical silver holograms with bubbly letters on the front and a purple border. It was all very Jesus Christ Superstar.

I wanted so desperately to believe. I might as well have highlighted the whole book because all that is left now is a few margins without notes. I memorized passages and created my own complex theory as to why the existence of God cannot be proven. My parents arranged for private confirmation classes with the same pastor whom I had interrupted as a wee piglet.

During one of my classes I asked a question about evolution and he explained to me that he believes the dinosaurs were killed in The Flood (you know the one). I countered with, "But I thought Noah was supposed to take 2 of everything?" He said, "The bible is not a factual history book, it is the story of God." We didn't meet again after that, though I don't recall why.

I found the God in the Bible to be wrathful and dis-compassionate. I decided that if this was the one true God, I wanted nothing to do with him. I was lacking the relief I was convinced I should have been feeling from faith in God. Furthermore, his followers seemed blind to reality. I knew many Christians who despite not reading the Bible, pledged their lives to this god. I became an avid atheist believing that religion was designed to control people and used as a tool of war. I thought myself quite clever and progressive.

When I came out I heard about a local church that was "open and affirming". Desperate to meet other gay people I dragged my mom to church. I fell head over heels for a girl that day. After months of pursuit she would be my first real kiss (I try not to think about the times I kissed men) only to tell me that she was sorry she'd mislead me and didn't mean for it to happen.

At any rate she was reason enough to continue attending church. The people were overwhelmingly welcoming and the pastor was very open and accessible for the kind of complex conversations I needed, of which we had many. The first time she said, "Jesus loves you" I abandoned ship.

When fall term started I heard that the local synagogue had a lesbian Rabbi. I could not believe that any religion was permitting "the gays" in their places of worship, let alone lead them. I decided to check it out for myself. I felt like I was going to vomit as I wanted for the service to start. I was afraid by entering such a temple God was more likely to notice I'd gone gay, even though I remained adamant that he did not exist.

She was breathtakingly beautiful and radiated confidence and inner peace. That was all the reason I needed to convert. I met with her privately to discuss this plan and figure out how to become a Jew. I expected her to be as excited as Christians were to increase their numbers. Instead she said:

You are more than welcome to pursue this plan if this is what is in your heart. But let me say this, faith is a mountain in which there are many paths to the summit, the views differ from each path but none is greater than the other. I encourage you to take the path you were born into but support you if you choose to find your own way.

I was nineteen at the time. I spent the next few years being comforted by the knowledge that I had the freedom to choose my path. So soothing did I find this idea that soon I was so comfortable I stopped moving at all. Surrounded by so many trees I forgot the mountain beneath my feet even existed. As much as I cling to the idea that I am not in need of faith, the mountain remains.

Six years later, the sun is setting on the well worn grass I've been pacing. I've resided here so long that all the nourishment is depleted from the land. For awhile the familiarity and shelter of the trees has kept me here but the knowledge that staying will mean starvation is ever growing as is my need for thinner air.

The trouble with medical professionals, spiritual leaders and myself is that we are unavoidably human and consequently possess such a small glimpse of the knowledge the world contains and even less of its wisdom. I fear humanity alone is unable to cure me and so I seek higher ground currently in possession of only a faulty inner compass and misconceived life experiences.

Lack of time

I have started about 5 different posts, but then I get lost in the land of research and then I get distracted by life. Just wanted to let you know that I'm not neglecting you.

There Is A Difference

I vaguely remember hearing whispers of a young man being left to die on a fence in a far away land called "Laramie". I knew only 2 things about it: 1.) He was attacked for being gay 2.) He must have been terrified.

I was 14. I tried not to think about it a whole lot, but I found it fascinating.

My understanding of what is was to be gay was shaped by many many events and fragments of information all coming in during different developmental stages, many of them very skewed. Here's a short list of distinct thoughts I had growing up:

1. kd lang is a lesbian and it cost her her career.
2. My uncle is gay and he's a jerk, I wonder if that's causation or coincidence.
3. The lead singer of Queen was gay and now he's dead.
4. Melissa Etheridge is a lesbian??? (and she has children ... that's kind of cool )
5. Gay men get AIDS and then they die
6. Ellen Degeneres just said she's gay ... she seems pretty normal ...
7. Being gay is perhaps acceptable but not ideal
8. Ellen is no longer on TV
9. Melissa Etheridge lost her children in a custody battle
10. Matthew Shepard was murdered because he was gay - if you're gay people will want to kill you.
    

It would be another 5 1/2 years, almost to the day before I saw Jennifer Finney Boylan on Oprah and realized I was gay. I cried. Perhaps I'll post the whole coming out story sometime, but now is not that time.

I'm 25 now. I've been out for 6 years. In general my life is good.

What happened to Matthew Shepard was a hate crime. According to the FBI (under reporting is huge factor here) Washington state had a total of 195 incidences in which a hate crime was commited in 2007. 39 were anti-gay crimes, which translates to 20%.

On Friday, the Senate approved an expansion of Federal Hate Crimes Legislation. If you are unfamiliar with this legislation it essentially extends federal protections granted under the hate crimes law of 1968 to include people who are physically attacked because of their gender, sexual orientation, gender identity or disability. But today, the Senate passed an amendment to the Act that would allow the death penalty to be applied in hate crimes cases under some circumstances. And it seems unlikely it will pass.

Some people believe that hate crimes deserve no "special" legislation. My father has told me that if I'm murdered he'll be just as pissed regardless of the reason. Many people believe that a crime is a crime.

I assure you, there is a difference. That difference resonates like tuning fork in every fiber of my being. But don't take my word for it. According to a study by Dr. Herek "crime-related psychological problems dropped substantially among survivors of non-bias crimes within approximately two years after the crime. Hate crime victims, however, continued to have higher levels of depression, stress, and anger for as long as 5 years after their victimization occurred.""

These crimes are not as random as they may seem. Society programs fear and prejudice in subtle and not so subtle ways.

And "Jason D" sums it up quite nicely in his comment on BTB:

"Someone writing “My Town is Cool” on the side of a business in spray paint is just committing one crime - vandalism.

But someone writing “Jews Must Die” on the side of a synagogue in spray paint is committing two crimes. They are using vandalism to commit harassment and intimidation. Picture this synagogue in a predominantly jewish community and it’s not hard to see that harassment is part of the equation.

...

Bigots often intimidate and harass their victims and community with petty crimes, the kind of thing that serves no jail time. Fines, slap on the wrist, and they’re out the door to commit another misdemeanor to harass and intimidate their victims. This becomes a campaign of harassment, often with the victim terrorized and finally murdered. "

A Story About a Toilet and a Cell Phone

In honor of a dear friend, I compiled a Top 5 list of memories of our time together. You will be missed.

1. Standing outside of the shelter that we worked at, washing down the chairs for children's group, a number of clients are walking by. She yells, as she becomes entangled, "WHAT'S WITH ALL THE HOSE?"
2. Instructing her in the ways of Nintendo Wii, she says (completely innocently), "You know, I really admire your Wii-ness."
3. Handing her the keys to my jeep, "I'll be there in a second." I arrive at the jeep. Door is locked, she is not in the vehicle. I say, "Where are the keys?" "You have them." "No, I gave them...to...you...and now...they're on the front seat... Is your door open??" "Urm, no" "Nice work." Locksmith: Free with roadside assistance. Standing outside in the freezing wind discussing our personal views on ghosts while we wait: priceless.
   
4. We're at work. I'm standing outside of the bathroom in desperate need of relief. The a-hole who went in before me is taking far longer than their allotted time. Door opens, it's her... turns out, the extra time was required due to a little accident involving her new cell phone. The phone never recovered, I barely recovered from the laughter induced asthma attack.
5. Ok, all the rest are really sincere and meaningful, and therefore not funny and only worth sharing between the two of us.
   

That shit is the shit I think about when I think about our shit.