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March 30th, 2011

Dance Around

A Woman Girl I Saw Through Glass At A Chili’s® Wearing A Pink Dress | Spring

A Woman I Found At This Chili’s® Pretending For Me In A Black Dress, A Purple Dress & Without One | Fall

– – –

I was new here. It had been a couple months, but I was still new. It was fall and I was a sophomore. My parents dropped me off outside the school, at the end of the long sidewalk that lead inside, then they drove away. I was early, I get everywhere early. I walked almost all the way up this sidewalk, till I could hear the music coming through the open double doors and see the lights coming through the windows from what was usually the cafeteria. Then I stopped. I thought to myself about how I didn’t know anyone inside, at all. I thought about the woman girl I wanted and how I knew she would likely be here and likely not be alone. I stopped short of going inside, at all. So I turned around and walked back down this same sidewalk almost to the where I had been dropped off, seconds before. I walked over to the edge of the shadow by the one street light that lit this area. I leaned against the fence, where I could still hear some of the music but not quite see the lights. I waited here for my parents to return to pick me up, it would only be a few hours.

No one really saw me. I quietly stood there, watching everyone go by. Everyone was with someone. One with a second, two with two more, many among many. Everyone was trying to be so beautiful and they actually were, each one I saw. I didn’t count.

I didn’t see them get out of the car, they had walked up into the streetlight that lit the beginning of this sidewalk. They were with two others of two. There she was in a dress of pink. They were holding hands and not, walking in front of and then around the others as the conversation and moments lead them forward. I wanted to look away, I didn’t want to remember this. This fact made me stare harder and it seemed to slow down. Just as she took his hand again and approached that area between the edge of dark of fading streetlight and light from the double doors of the usual cafeteria, she looked my way. She had seen me see her.

She let go of his hand and walked over to me, still leaning on that fence. She walked right to me, up so close I could see the black of her pupils in her already just so much not as dark brown eyes, even in this shadow. I had never stood so close to her. It felt good. Regardless. She looked me right in my blue green eyes, she said, “Why are you standing out here all alone, are you waiting for someone?” We had never spoken before.

I said, “Not exactly.” She looked at me, all kinds of puzzled washed over her face. She offered out her hand and told me to come inside. I politely declined and watched them go inside. I did not want to know what it felt like to touch her if she wasn’t there to dance with me, on purpose.

I kept standing there. Eventually, slowly, people one with a second, two with others of two and many among many started coming out of those double doors where the music I could hear was coming from. I watched them and did not count. Then, at some point, I saw my parents car pull up, right on time, on the edge of that streetlight. I walked over, got in the backseat, they drove me home.

She and I never spoke again but we looked at each other, often not too briefly, often across that same cafeteria. Then one day, she was gone. I didn’t know where she went and had no one to ask. A very, very long time went by and I was at one end of the very long hallway that divided our school in two. As I got towards the end of this corridor, I saw a woman out of place, pushing a stroller. I turned and went through the double doors of the stairway just as I saw her not briefly look at me as I now not briefly looked at her, again. Later, in the cafeteria, it was all my table was talking about. A man boy next to me asked who the father was, the woman girl across from me asked me as I stood up walking away, “Don’t you want to know?”

I told her, “No.”

I was new here, again. I had not been in school for some time and still didn’t know anyone outside of this place. It was the end of spring and I was a senior. We had been assigned to write a poem in iambic pentameter. So I went home and found all the words I could that rhymed from my Guns N Roses album. I wrote these single words down apart from those lyrics in a list, counted the syllables, arranged them in another list and constructed my own poem. This poem was about a cheerleader that sat in front of me one aisle of desks over, to my left. I did this in iambic pentameter, as I was told to. The next day, I handed it in and I forgot about it. Then the grades of these poems got announced by the teacher.

Cheerleader was upset with her grade. She asked the teacher if anyone did well, he said, “Yes, there was one A.” She demanded to know who, out loud. The teacher looked at me and nodded questionably. I looked him back and softly nodded. I knew I had an A, before I handed it in. He handed it to her, you see, she sat right in the front of her aisle of desks, just in front of me but one over, to the left, right in front of his desk.

She crinkled my paper flat with her hands and started reading it, out loud, before she read it to herself. I hadn’t named her. She stumbled over the words a few times as she was blushing finding her way through it. I sat there and I liked that. The other students in class were looking around, watching to see if they knew who or could figure who wrote it. I was staring at my desk. I liked that too.

When she was done, she handed it back to the teacher. The teacher stood up, walked over to me, one aisle over and behind her one seat to the left and placed that crinkled paper on my desk. She stared at me and I stared right back at her.

A very short time went by. The woman girl in front me, directly, who was cheerleader’s friend turned around during a break and asked me, “Jonathan, do you have a date to the prom?” I said, ashamed and bashfully, “No.” She looked over to her left, looking at cheerleader who was turned and looking at me, “[Cheerleader] doesn’t have a date to the prom either.” Then the two talked among each other while sort of including me. Cheerleader, after telling a story about her artist boyfriend I thought she had, said, to me, “Are you really not going to go or ask anyone?”

I have no idea what I said after that, but I did not ask her. In fact, it never occurred to me to do so. Years later, standing in a darkroom printing in silence, I thought about that first dance and about that moment talking to cheerleader about prom. When that tray of developer hit the wall, it cracked.

This Was The Day I Learned You Flew, Almost Daily

March 28th, 2011

White Shirt

March 27th, 2011

White Room

I Am Sinnerman, The Time Today Between Request And Answer

March 27th, 2011


I have no scale for what has been done, what is still being done, this is beyond all my measure.

March 27th, 2011

Brunch Munch







March 26th, 2011

Day Shared The Birth

Για τη γέννηση αυτού του Κριού τον αδελφό μου και για τη γέννηση αυτής της πραγματικής Κριού μου αγάπη,
που σήμερα είναι ένας πατέρας και ο οποίος σήμερα είναι τώρα μια μητέρα.
Παλεύω για τον εαυτό μου ενάντια σε έναν εξωπραγματικό μου.
– – –

March 25th, 2011

She Fly

March 24th, 2011

One Yellow Oval

Two Black Wings & One Yellow Oval On My Back

March 24th, 2011

Saints Find Me

One Saint Day

Love Only Is God Pain Can
Pain Judge Is Me Love

– – –

No Good Deed Goes…. | March 2, 2011 – 11:40am

I made this photograph, standing on the sidewalk, out in the open in the sunlight. I almost didn’t make it, but I liked this story I thought I would never tell. So I took this one and only this one. The mistake I made was that I thought I made it on March 1st, it was really, March 2. The rest I don’t think was a mistake.

I found a typewriter here where I stay. It used to belong to my grandmother’s grandmother if I have the story right, no one really knows. The internet tells me it will soon be 100 years old(ish). I did not want to try to sell it in a hurry and could not keep it. I had once met someone who collects them, I thought they could give it a nice home, I wanted them to have it. The trouble was, I was in a situation where I was forced to keep secrets I did not wish to and never really promise to. Yet, I had been silent and no longer tried to be a friend to someone that openly and publicly called me theirs for anyone to see in a way I cherished and found quite beautiful. They had done this in a way not many others really have – a photograph, of me, they took, that is one of my favorite, flown high for all. They were the one that likes typewriters. I had vanished on them many months ago when I did not want to. All to keep the secrets of another that hasn’t shown me what I have shown them. I was stuck. I just wanted to give someone that likes typewriters a typewriter.

So it was my first errand of many that day. I drove over, parked in front, got out of my car, carried it to the porch, set it down, turned and walked away. I stopped at my car door, turned around and looked at it. This entire moment was just sad for existing. So I took a photograph of it as I stood there. It was sad. It looked like it in my photograph too. Then I got in my car and I drove away.

Since March 2, I have found another one, another typewriter that almost matches yet is only more beautiful, more old and more lonely. I think I will just throw this one away and I do not know if the first one was even received.

I used to live my life without secrets for this very reason. I will tell anyone anything about anything I know. I am proud of this. It’s who I am and why you found me or you wouldn’t see this, be reading this, right now. Nothing good ever came from a secret.

– – –

Pray For Me, Set Your Own Skin On Fire, Believe In A Name, Roll Some Dice & Smoke Up


I have nothing to hide & this is how I have chosen to live my life, for a very long time.


March 18th, 2011

My Scars Look Different

April 13, 2010 | 8:44:05 PM | After That Hour

I once sorta knew a poet. She was giving a reading she invited everyone on the internet to attend, I saw the post. I told her I was excited to hear her read as I was finally living close enough, a drive to her city was no longer a problem. I told her I saw her invitation and had thought it applied to everyone, even me, as everyone can see the internet. This is when she asked me specifically not to come. She told me my presence specifically would be too much, that I specifically would make her too nervous and she didn’t want me specifically and only me specifically to come hear her read. I was actually flattered by this as much as I was hurt, at first, you see, I thought it meant something about me was special. I was curious and looked up the reading details as I liked it when she read out loud, I had seen a video once. This is when the internet taught me it was actually a reading she was giving with-to-for her ex-current-boyfriend-husband-Idontknowwhat that I had heard over and over again in regards to she and I actually being special, was “Not in the way.” It seems this night, whatever he is or was or is again, he was actually very much in my specific way.

This left a scar.


The Hour I Was Deaf / The Hour You & He Read / April 13, 2010 7:30-8:30 PM
33/304 Because You Were 33
Hear My Hour Here

I was staying in one hotel over and over across much time. There was a man, a “Doctor” here that basically lived in this hotel. He spent so much time in the lobby talking to everyone, to you and to me, that my group became uncomfortable and switched hotels. No one likes the creepy lonely lobby guy. No one likes him just that much.


At the next hotel, at the counter, there worked a woman, she was the key keeper and she was very attractive. The night before Valentines Day, I was lonely.  So I approached the counter and I started talking to her. It was 8PM. I was now the new creepy lonely lobby guy and I was no Doctor. I told her I like tell stories. I told her I like to take pictures. Some other guests came by this counter to check in and I talked to them too and I told them stories too. Some listened and some did not. Some let me make a photograph and none I asked did not. I gave the attractive key keeper a book of my stories to read on loan and return to me some other time. I was to be here many nights. She asked me if I was creepy and I said “Yes.” Then she open my book and started flipping through the pages. She pointed to a photograph and looked at me – it was a creepy one. I blushed, she laughed and kept flipping the pages, looking at me all the more sideways, while also smiling and trying not to. Then she told me she would look more later when I was not there and she was not working, she put my book in her bag.

She told me some stories too. One story she told me was that in her car, she had a pink nightie that she had just bought at Wal-Mart® that day but that it wasn’t very fancy. I asked if I could photograph her in it and she just laughed. So I told her for Valentines Day, the next day, I would buy her a new one, a nicer one, but by only slightly, as I would buy it at Target®. Again, she just laughed. We kept talking. It was now almost 2AM. I had been creepy lonely lobby guy for a straight 6 hours.


I stepped off to the side when her shift ended and she talked with the one who kept the keys for the next shift. I knew she had her own room this night in the hotel as it was so late and I didn’t want our talk to end so I was waiting. I saw her walk by me, I saw her not even look at me and I heard her not say a word. Then she was gone up the elevators. I was now in the lobby by myself.


I went to my hotel room, sullen, did the things I do before I sleep and then tried to in all my darkness. Lying there, thinking of the thing I always do, I heard a fast series of knocks on my door. I smiled to myself, jumped up, put my pants and shirt back on and answered my door. The hotel hall was empty. I threw the lock out to keep my door open, chose to walk left in my bare feet and just slowly went down the hall, hoping. Then, without surprise, I saw my key keeper lean out of the last door on the right. She was standing in the doorway. Barefoot, bare legged, wearing her pink Wal-Mart® nightie with a black bra showing and a confident smile. I walked up to her, reached out and grabbed the fabric of her nightie with my left hand, twisting it up into my fist and watching it rise up so I could see the stripes of her panties. I wanted to kiss her, but I did not, I just watched her watch me. We were still in the doorway, it was almost 3AM and that hallway was empty and with neither of us saying a word, it was awfully quiet too.



We were lying on her bed and I saw she had a scar. I asked her the how and the why and then she let me photograph it. Then she showed me another, so I photographed that one too, then another, and another, and another.



I told her I have many scars as well, but most of mine are online or in that book of mine I could see lying on the floor of her hotel room, spilled out of her bag. Then I asked if she had any more I could see. She showed me one she was born with and then one she burned in long ago that is not fading. I reached out, took a hold of her leg and kissed the one she was born with. She smiled, she laughed, then she said it was time for bed. Her in hers, me in mine, back down the hall.




The next day I returned from my tasks. It was now Valentines Day, I had fulfilled my promise. I had her Target®. I walked up to her at the counter and she didn’t even look up. I excitedly said “Hi, I have your Target®.” She said, “I really don’t want to be here today.” I stood there a moment. I tried to keep the conversation going. It didn’t work and she never looked up. So I went to my hotel room, sullen, did the things I do before I sleep and then tried to in all my darkness even though the sun was still up outside my window.


The next day I returned from my tasks and I walked up to her at the counter. She was looking right at me and she said, “I’ve been reading your book, are you going to tell a story about me?” I said, “Probably.” She smiled and said, “Where have you been hiding, you didn’t answer your door last night?” I told her I had been sleeping, but I lied, I had been awake, too much so and I had heard no knock. I asked her when we were going to photograph her in her Target® Valentine gift and she just blushed, “I cannot accept that.”



The next day I returned from my tasks and walked up to her at the counter. It was 9PM. I was creepy lonely lobby guy again and talked with her until 2AM. There was to be no knock on my hotel door this night either.



The next day I returned from my tasks and walked up to her at the counter. She started with the stories this time. She told me of the male friend that visited with her at her home the previous night, after our other long talk, that she drank too much and that this male friend and her would now have awkwardness. I told her that seems to be what happens when that sort of thing happens. I asked her if she had finished my book yet as I was leaving soon and she said it was at her house. She knew this was my last night here and asked if she could buy it from me, I said, “No.” The book was now hers by default, I liked this. It was 9PM.



I left and went to the place of pretend. I saw my woman of wings, naked, upside down on the pole. She saw me see her, for it had been some time and she said, “iliketotellstories.com.” I liked this. Very Much. She knows how I Oh So Wish I Could Fly like she Can and I Cannot.


I was sitting at the bar, alone, watching, sullen. A woman I did not know from pretending before saw me see and came over. Arms outstretched she fell into me with a hug and those arms felt as if they went around me twice. Tall black boots, tiny black bottoms, small pink bra and blond hair. She had a look like you’ve seen her before, but you haven’t, not quite like her. She took my hand and walked me towards the back. She looked at me, her eyes glossed over and all kinds of blue and green even in this red light. She said, pointing to her cheek bone,


“You see this here around this eye, this is where my boyfriend smashed my face, he went to jail for a year because of it.”

I said, “He deserved more.”

She said, “I am the president of the itty-bitty-titty-committee.”

I said, “I like presidents.”


I sat down and she sat down and the music started. She put one leg up in the air and asked me to help with the zipper, from almost the top of her thigh to the almost bottom of her foot, so I helped, as requested. She was almost now naked. She stood up, one boot left on, one on the floor and she then fell back into me, arms wrapped around me twice once again as she let gravity smash us together. She was now facing me, wrapped around me and quiet. I sat there a moment, the song was still going but she nor I was moving. Then I felt her body tremble, shake. I reached up and caressed that blond away from her face and out of my face. She was crying. I asked, “Are you okay?” She leaned her head back and looked at me, her eyes almost all blue now and bloodshot red where they should be white. Tears after tears rolling down her face and making my shirt wet, quite so. She told me she needed to make $___ tonight or she would be evicted and have to live in her car. She asked me if I liked her, if I thought she was pretty and if I wanted her. I told her, “Who wouldn’t?” She asked if I was from Texas as I had big Texas patch on my sleeve. I said, “Yes.”


“Do you want me to come home to Texas with you, because I will.”

I asked her if she even remembered my name, as I had given her my real one and forgotten her fake one.


She then told me if I gave her $___ now for the dance and then $___ later in my hotel, I could do anything I wanted with her, to her. She was now sitting on the floor, the old carpet swallowing her, naked, one boot on and one sprawled out next to her. Sitting indian-style, weeping as she spoke, tears falling onto her chest now instead of my shirt. “So you’re going to give me $___ now right and then I will meet you at your car at 2AM to go back to your hotel, okay.” I hadn’t said anything at all since I asked her for my name. “Then we’ll drive to Texas.” She was telling me a story that sounded familiar but felt all kinds of wrong and very different. I was just sitting there. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what to do and each sentence I could have predicted but yet I did nothing and said nothing.


I reached for my wallet, opened it up and gave her the $___ she wanted now. Knowing I shouldn’t be, couldn’t be, shouldn’t be, didn’t want to, didn’t want to, didn’t want to, this cannot be happening. Then it did.


I watched her get dressed, she took my hand and walked me back to the front. She leaned over, kissed my cheek and said, “I am going to go make more money now.”


I still hadn’t said anything since asking her for my name but I think I heard myself laughing, I cannot remember.

I sat down back by the stage but far away and stared at the floor a moment. Then I stood up, walked to the door, I went to my borrowed car and drove back to my hotel.


I had given away more than I had to give. Again.


– – –



I walked into the hotel lobby. It was now 1:30AM. The key keeper, the counter girl, the woman with my book, the one who shared her scars too, who knew I was leaving in a few hours, by happenstance was walking towards the same door I was coming from. I smiled when I saw her just feet from me and was about to say hello when she said walking by me as quickly as she could with a brief, parade like wave,


“So long sucker.”


I didn’t say anything or laugh this time, at least, I don’t think I did. I just went to my hotel room and waited until it was time to go to the airport, back to Texas, back through IAH.

The wetness of the one girls tears I could still feel on my shirt.


True story.


March 10th, 2011

Not The Red Baron

March 10th, 2011

As I Am An Honest Puck

This Is My Love Forest And You All Swallow Shallow Cave Of My Ill Heart Are Not Welcome Here

Fly Back To EverEverLand & Do Not Call So Close To Be Sure I See & Get Out Of My UnReturned Known Home

Do you know,” Peter [Pan] asked, “Why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.”

You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming?”
Even Tinker Bell Remembers Puck Did Here Give His Face When I Have Stopped Clapping For Her

– – –

As I Am An Honest Puck

I Have Not Deserved This Luck, Me A Liar You Call ?

Once Before This Call + Once Again This Call = Twice Your Fiction Now Grandstand Told


Reflections are not Real and are Seeing All Backwards

They Cannot Speak for Themselves

There Is Nothing Left They Can

3 Things To See After 11:11

So Sayeth All Sorta I

March 16, 2011

As Desired

March 8th, 2011

My Deer

March 8th, 2011


I walked into the place called Pitts. It was time for my ritual. Time for the removal of what I did not desire to any longer appear on me as it did. This man, he made it better. He knows what I do about this, he told me so. This man brought me a moment of comfort when I had none. Things are different on the outside, this he told me too but I do not know, not yet. He did not look the color of me but I do believe he may have been.

Seconds later I met a man who I know was not my color. I showed him a hole and he said he could not fix it.

But he knew someone that could.

So I asked him, “Please.” I told the other man, “Thank you.”

March 8th, 2011

Fake(r) Flowers

A man I know I do not know now 18 years wrote me a letter:

“List of prints I would like to see hanging in front of my face.”

This was a list of four photographs with a portrait of one. Three with no people and Yes, one of that One. Over 6000 photographs here and he wanted one of the two of that One. So I took great pause while still flattered. I told him that I had no intentions of ever selling that One but that given a new circle I now saw and the how and when of this circle, the story of him buying this One would make a lovely story. A circle if you will, For Me, where I did not have one. For him and only him as it has been 18 years.

I told him that I learned from the internet, that photographs of this One, “Modeling” sell for $____ per square inch. So I would sell him this photograph of her “Modeling” for me at that same price. This man knows about modeling, he photographs many of the Top “Models” in America. He told me he saw what I made of her and that made him want to fly and make a film about the One and I. This gave me great pause as well.

So I asked, do you know this One at all, do you have communication with this One at all and what do you see, Why this One and why Me, Now.

He responded,

“Dude what are you talking about?”

And there it was, he did not who the One is. So I gave him two words in an order and told him, search engine.

Some time then passed.

He responded,

“I do not want to buy that print anymore.”

My great pause and my circle were over. He loves his print of my fake(r) flowers.

– – –

True Story, just like all of them.
You see those flowers there though, those are fake. You Know, just in case anyOne still has doubts.

March 8th, 2011

Property Of This Blessed Man

I stepped into the sunlight from the shadow, onto the property of this blessed man.

I Was Trespassing

March 8th, 2011

My Father Is Where I Come From

My father was walking through a door, a woman he did not know was walking through this same door in another direction, they had a moment of awkward and were polite about it. He noticed she was holding an obituary section of the newspaper, so jokingly he asks with cleverness of her obvious alive, “The obituary, you are not in it are you?” She looks at him and says, “No, but my friend is.” Then she started crying.

My father is where I come from.

March 8th, 2011

All Around The Stadium

The Length Of Hair Went All Around The Stadium

March 8th, 2011

Known Captures

March 8th, 2011

One Closed Eye Of A Color

The Circle Must Be True As Green + Blue

– – –

It has been 52 weeks since I crossed the line of the perimeter driving and reading a story, simultaneously, on a piece of glass in my hand. A story I had once heard before, only this time different, it was where all could see, certainly me, when all I had heard or seen directly and personally was not for anyone, simultaneously. I would see more like this, in these 365 days, more than I can count, over and over, night after day. I fail myself sometimes and I look, they are still being made. It won’t ever stop no matter the state of how could you. I stopped for 120 days out of these 365. I learned time now means less to me the all the sudden you now count it, just so. So I won’t anymore and all stories now will be just what I want and only what I want, too. This one long ago now was a story about the color green and the color blue. It was about the way these colors can change in one’s eyes depending on the light when one’s eyes are open. So sayeth for one so sayeth for another. It made no mention of the colors when all these sets of eyes are closed. This was the day I arrived.

In this circle of time and of a promise I just found, I saw the aquamarine of one closed forever eye I also just found. This is not my story as it should be, could be, it is the story of what is, of what was likely all along as if I never existed or if existed only for my parts. This is the story of what I may have seen clearly had my eyes not been so closed. I gave more than my absolutely everything.

I saw these eyes once, these other eyes of green + blue. I couldn’t really tell this night, the light wasn’t right, there was no sun at this opposite of noon. So I stood right in front of them, 10, maybe 15 feet away. I faced them, then I waited, looking directly and full of patience, unmissable. I was not subtle. These other eyes were under a white construction helmet, above a loose fitting t-shirt, pants that fit like pajamas and above sockless feet in small little flip flops. These other eyes like to use words like magnificent and extraordinary to describe what is obviously so, but when I looked at them with my eyes, as I had already seen more of this other eyed individual than I should on glass, I didn’t see either of these things in them. They just looked shorter then I had imagined. I kept standing there, patiently waiting. These other eyes of green + blue looked left and looked right, leaning on the bar with their back, one out stretched arm one direction along the rail, the other arm outstretched the other way, those eyes looking each way too. Back and forth, never straight ahead, never at me, right in front of them with my green + blue. These other eyes were waiting, for this was a party meant for pain and other eyes was waiting for the bell of the ball, she was his to have. You see, other eyes likes to watch bell of the ball hurt people in worlds of pretend fairytales, then they go home, having taken only what they want away from others. Other eyes likes seeing me hurt at her hands too. So here I was, by almost happenstance. No more glass between us, no more bell of the ball to hide behind, here I am sir, hurt me, directly. I am patiently waiting…..

Seconds became minutes, too many. So I lost interest and walked away alone. I would receive no hurt, I would receive no direct look, no look straight ahead as I watched and waited for it in my spot of cannot be missed, this sir would not hurt me, look at me, directly or I had the wrong eyes in the dark, it all meant the same now.

It took me these 52 weeks to see, other eyes of green + blue only wants to see me hurt from far away, just like his bell of the ball only loves me from far away.

Now that I was real, now that I was more than words and pictures on glass, now that I was inside this perimeter,
I would not be seen.

This knight of the sky I found with one closed forever eye of a color, it fell for no reason I can see inside two lines that make a perimeter of nothing nor intersect. 52 weeks = 365 days = a promise circle I am not in and I am tired of what has been taken away and I am burnt out on hearing lies and I am exhausted from losing count of what I never should have been shown just how I was and I am depleted from hiding what I never ever promised to and I am crippled from giving away more than I had to give.


I gave you all 5 fingers of my hand before you said, “Too Much.”

I have been given the finger, but not ever offered one. This is heavier than the weight of the world.

March 8th, 2011

See Me As

I See You See Me As You Listen

March 5th, 2011

Circle On Your Appendage

You see that scar?

That cuff of broken fur on the incorrect

looking right rear leg of this deer? That is my fault.

Or so I believe it is due to an event I could not have controlled

nor could have predicted. I’ve watched it limp a long time now since then.

It stalks me while I no longer even go looking or desire to.

It will limp forever, just like me.

I hope it hurts.

March 4th, 2011

The Strength I See

In Your Wife

March 3rd, 2011

3 Brothers

The Brothers Who Helped Keep My World Open & The Brothers Who Helped Keep My World Closed

March 3rd, 2011


The Last Time My Only Law Judged Me

March 1st, 2011



Did you hear that? That silence.

That was the sound of not my baby screaming.

I have to do what is right, not what I Want.”