Would That I Might

 Why Sit Here? What reason is there to be sitting out here in the garage, hidden between the house and the yard, not inside, but not all the way out, and now with these boxes, just hidden away.  What is it makes this the way to spend time?  It is not only the cat being dead, missing him so when sitting outside as I did with him.  Most would think he would run off, try to go beyond where I could watch, but most nights he stayed where he knew he should. It is not that he is gone, at least, not that alone.  I know it is not that alone, that there is more.  What else is it? I am not certain yet.  It is hiding, but will not swipe at my ankles from beneath the bed 

My motivation has been flagging recently.  I am still doing my writing, and I have moments when I feel inspired most every day, but I feel less compelled towards my work than I have in the past, as a general rule.  Much of the time, I am needing to force myself to write, and that has not always been the case.  I know a large part of this is connected to the larger issues in my life right now, and the fact that I am dealing with a great deal right now.  I have spoken about issues with my mother and brother before, and that is a big factor.  It sucks a huge amount of energy out of me.  As well, I feel quite dejected by the persistent publishing slump I've been in.  I don't know what I can do at the moment to build back more of that motivation, though I do want to.  In many ways, I feel as if my efforts have not had any real results, and feeling that way makes it hard to remain just as committed.  In some ways, it makes it feel a bit insane to put all that energy in, when all that

There Are Choices to Be Made I do not know what to do.  I know what I want, but I cannot choose only because I want a thing, can I?  It seems silly, seems wrong to do what I want because I want it, even though it is an option, just to do it and see what happens, see how it all ends.  But if I do that, I do not know: things have a way of turning, what I choose for my best so often becomes a curse.

I did not get a chance to work on my fiction tonight, as I am not able to get to my office tonight.  In truth, I probably could, but I find it difficult to recall where I can or cannot walk, so I am being safe and avoiding the area until tomorrow.  As I mentioned the other night, I think I found the direction the story is going, and it feels quite interesting, but I am taking it slow still, as I don't know all the details or where it is leading in a larger sense.  I mean, the revelation that I had is central, but it is more about the world in a larger sense, and about the character's position in that world, more specifically.  However, I still am discovering all the ramifications, not to mention how they will manifest in the story.  I think taking a night to thi k on it is good for me.  I have a much clearer sense of what I need to understand than I did before, and a large part of that is recognizing what needs filling in.  Often just considering these things without working re

Take Care with Each Step The floor in the house has been changing: the old tile is gone, was ripped away weeks ago (I think it was the same as what remains in the guest room).  The new tile is being laid, installed, a few more tiles each day.  Some days it is not safe to walk here, but the next, that area is fine, it is a new spot that must be avoided.  I do not walk in the house when I can avoid it, duck through the backyard and in the front again.  It is changing, right now. They may be done soon, but first, it must be this, it is what must be done for things to change, is only the moment between the loss of the old and the creation of what is to come.

I got a very long and detailed email from Freesia McKee tonight, discussing some of her thoughts on my work, as to why it is being rejected.  It is not a science, by any means, but a large part of what she observed is that my work tends to be subtle and small, in many ways.  I often do not use a lot of specific images, choosing to rely upon a more universal, less grounded, palette.  To me, this often feels more genuine, and I tend to think it allows me to create work that is relatable, that is easy for anyone to connect with, and expands into specifics from there.  The question is, whether the reason I am not finding success in getting work placed is because my poems are too subtle and are not recognized when they are first seen.  I think that may well be true, and it is worth knowing that I have many poems that do not follow the trends I am describing here at all.  I write enough that I have poems of many different types at this point, but the tendencies that are described above refle

This Is Not Change I do not think he is willing to sacrifice anything.  He says he wants things to be better, but it seems his idea of better is just his being the same and me not being upset, it seems that is what he wants.  It seems to be what she wants too.  I mean my brother and my mother.  They are the ones I am talking about.  They recognize problems exist.  They are not happy that problems exist.  But the problem is not what they do or have done, it is not them.  I am the only problem. The only problem is that I want them to treat me differently, want them to stop doing what hurts me.

It is another of those nights when I am uncertain what to put in this space.  I took a bit of a relaxed approach to writing today, it being a holiday, and only did a small amount of work.  I spent much of the day cooking, and am rather worn out from it all, to be honest.  My mother and brother did a bit of the work, but the majority fell to Melissa and I.  Both of us joked to each other about how it might have been nice if we had been quarantined from them and had our own Thanksgiving, but, even with all the crap, I do love and appreciate Mom and Eugene.  I am thankful for many things they have done, and the real problem I have is feeling that they do not recognize me for who I am, and are not willing to consider my perspective.  I am thankful for the feeling that, at least to some extent, they are recognizing problems that have long existed, and might be open to working towards making them better.  In truth, I am quite skeptical about all of it, still, but they are still my family to

Always Wrong It is clear there is a rule they follow that defines what my actions must mean, an axiom to be sated in all cases: a meaning that exists before all else, that is ascribed a priori, is present alone, before I enter. It is there, defines the meaning of any gesture before it is made, defines me in their minds.

There is something quite interesting that happens when I am working on a piece of fiction and allow myself the freedom to not be entirely certain of what it is about.  I've spoken of this in the past, describing how a piece of fiction can take shape outside my awareness, and without my being certain what was truly planned, what was just an opportunistic choice or stroke of luck.  In the case of the story I am working on, I am finding myself discovering the power of maintaining faith in a piece of work, even as I find it challenging to understand what it is getting at.  The story is one that I began with a general sense of the events, but not a real direction for the ending, beyond a general one.  I did not have a real notion of what was happening in the story, beyond a general sense, and did not have a very clear concept of the world that it is taking place within, despite it being a rather science-fiction concept.  I have been taking my time with it, adding to it in drips and drab

He Will Be My Neighbor It does not feel safe in this place any longer, not now that it is clear what is coming, who is coming. He will be so close, that place is too close to here. He knew. He did it and he knew, and I do not feel at all safe in this house that was my home. 

I am thinking a lot about my brother tonight.  My relationship with him has been very strained, and it has gotten far worse in the recent past.  It is, however, only a matter of it being more acute, but I think the underlying issues have been there for a long while.  The specific cause of the recent escalation in tensions is my brother's decision to buy a house down the street from the one that Melissa and I just bought.  As I have mentioned, I believe, I asked him not to purchase a house so close to me, and he agreed to this without commenting upon the issue.  If he had spoken with me in advance, it might well have been different, and we could be quite a bit closer, but instead, it felt, and still feels, as if my feelings are not at all important to him in any real sense, as if my perspective is not worth seeing as legitimate or meaningful.  He has claimed, subsequent to my being upset, that he was hurt by my not wanting him to live there, and that may well be, but he never said a

Limited Options I follow those rules, the ones I was told to follow if I wished to find my way from here to there, have done each thing as it was said I should do it, I am diligent in the ways that are required. Each day, there is more of it, but I know the rules, follow them, am guided by them, though it seems I am still here even now, after so much time doing what I have been told, have no reward for following these rules, nothing has come of it, but I follow still.

 I had another rather frustrating day, on many different levels.  I do not think it is worth getting into the specifics at this moment, but I do still feel rather worn.  I am glad to be writing, and I am attempting to be hopeful about my work.  I received a rejection on a packet I had been hopeful about, as it had taken a very long time to hear anything back, but it was just another form letter when it arrived.  I wish I could just let these things go, at times, but it is not always so easy.  Individual rejections are not necessarily a terrible thing, but the growing pile of uninterrupted rejection that is growing in my inbox is always present when a new one arrives.  At this point, I have sent out around 125 submissions this year.  This includes poetry packets, chapbook submissions, and some prose work as well.  I've received back a bit more than half of the submissions already.  I am attempting to hold on to the faith that my work does have value, and is of merit, and I am glad f

A Zuihitsu Occassioned By The Recognition That MetaphorGate Is A Terrible, Tiresomely Cliched Metaphor The Twitter Metaphor Trials The Poets Committee on Unmetaphorical Activity A group of people in one room, yelling angrily about one person in another room. I never metaphor I didn't like until I met you. They say that there are many roads to Rome, but they don't realize I know the only way that is the right way to get there, and the rest are just wrong ways, no matter where they lead. Hands covering the twin wicks of a candle because some would rather burn themselves than let others have any light. A group of sculptors arguing that the beautiful work before them is trash, since it was made with the wrong chisel, the one they do not use and never would, and cannot admit is capable of anything. An opportunity to do what shouldn't be done while pretending to do other things that are not necessary either, but might be acceptable. The fast closing of a gate by interlopers after

I'm back in my office tonight, which makes me quite happy.  It would have been fine to be stuck out of here last night, if I had been warned that was going to happen, but I was not prepared at all, so I hadn't gotten any of the things I needed from this room.  I am writing a story and I didn't have any copy of it except on the computer (I am in the process of backing files up as we speak, and I do have copies of most of my work, just not the current version of that story).  As well, I am reading Susanna Clarke's new novel Piranesi  and was rather eager to return to it.  I am still near the beginning, but it is a strange and beautiful book, and I am not yet certain what game it is playing, which I quite enjoy.  I am certain I will have more to say on it when I have read it through.  In a strange way, I am rather glad I was kept away from that book for the night, and from the office, by extension, as it had been some time since I felt that sense of wanting to get back to

The End Matters It seems as if you do not know the end is still part of the whole, can destroy  what came before by how it is handled, by what you do. Like the night we had dinner for my birthday at a nice restaurant and you rushed off before it was over to beat the traffic out of town, bolted away with no care that it was disrupting what had been pleasant, because you decided the end did not matter, the rest was over and you were done even pretending it was at all nice to be there together for that celebration, you made it clear what the rest meant by what you chose to do to make sure it ended.

It has been a rather long and tiring day, and I am not able to work in my office tonight, due to the work going on in the house.  It kept me from getting more work done on my fiction, but I was able to write my poetry on my phone instead.  I am feeling rather wound down at the moment, and I want to find a path from these feelings, but I can't find a way to feel different about things that remain the same.  I know the answer is changing these things, and a large part of my problem is the feeling that I cannot do anything to actually make progress.  I do not have a path towards change, and the situation I am in is harming me, and I know that.  Even worse, I know I am often terrible company, that Melissa has to deal with it.  I do not want to be like this, and I know I need to do something about it, something to make things better in a real way.  I wish I felt optimistic about that, but I fear it will not be possible.

A Weakness Revealed What do you carry in that bag that you must keep always near? You must tell us, you need to, we want to know, tell us. If you were not so careful to keep it close, who'd care? But we must know, it is your fault, so tell us right now, you must.

I need to keep my entry short tonight, so I can get myself to bed on the early side.  I had a long day, and have been rather worn out emotionally.  As well, tomorrow I have to be up early, as I have an appointment in the morning.  On top of all that, the house is a bit disordered at the moment, as they are starting to put new tile down, but only in parts of the house, and it can't be walked on yet.  This means that I had to actually go outside the house in the front and then come in again through the backyard in order to get to my office, as I couldn't walk from the kitchen, since all the wet tile is blocking the doors that lead towards my office.  I am quite tired, in any event, and I do not really know what else I would be posting tonight.  I've done my writing for the day, and now I am wrapping this up.  It will be good to get to bed early for once, and I am hoping I may even fall asleep.

We Must Get It Tomorrow, we go to meet the bird that will be with us, will learn of it, see if it flies or sings, will wake and go to it, to the bird, it is there, has flown down to wait for dawn, to wait for us to come.  It is not at all a bird in the way you think of a bird, but it will be one when we arrive, will be one for us.

 I received another rejection today.  As I said, I am expecting that I will receive more responses in the coming week, before the holidays begin in earnest.  It has been about one a day this week, I believe, and it does begin to feel a bit like water torture, a drip at a time.  Of course, the only thing that would make it seem better is for the trend that I am experiencing to change.  Continuing on this path feels just self-destructive, at times.  I do not have the ability to see this in any way that changes my feelings, and I have attempted to do so.  I've been working hard to find perspectives that alter the framework through which I am experiencing this, but it falls apart for me.  I feel, often, as if it is just self-delusional, and denying the truth of the situation.  The evidence is here, and it is not a thing I can deny, no matter what else might also be true.  It does not matter if my work is actually good, at a certain point, if I am only to be dismissed.  In some ways, th

Impovements Things progress, but to go forward  towards the new, there is destruction, is a necessity for what was to go, so they have taken and demolished walls and floors, and the house is dust and rubble, and noise, with no safe place for a foot to land, nothing is right: it has been ruined. What it was has been ruined, smashed into memory. But how could anything have been changed, been made anew if what was here were still to remain as it had been?

Today has been a productive day for me, with a number of new drafts for poems, work on my current fiction project, along with some odds and ends.  As well, their are a bunch of new submissions out (thanks Freesia).  I did receive another rejection as well.  I am expecting I will have a bunch more responses this week, as I know that their is a desire to clear things off before Thanksgiving, if possible.  I am attempting to keep hopeful about what these might contain, but I know the likelihood is just more rejections.  It is difficult to remain positive, but I do have a lot of faith in my work, at this point.  I've had many others express their support and belief in it in many different ways, and I believe them.  That does not, of course, mean that I will be able to get the work in print, or that the market is seeking anything of the sort that I am writing, but I have to believe it means something in the long term.  It is not always enough to think in that perspective, as it really i

Why Ask? You ask me what it is I would prefer, and I say what I want, my selection, and then you decide you want the opposite, and if I ask you why you bothered to ask my opinion, why it is you have pretended that you care, you will not see what I mean, will be angered that I am unreasonable, how could you know I would want what you did not wish to offer without asking?

 As I have said many times on this blog, I am finding it difficult to get work published, and it is often quite upsetting.  It can make it difficult to feel that the work I am producing is good.  Any artist has trouble assessing the value of their work, and it is true the market is not the best place to get such judgements, but it is hard to dismiss the repeated rejections.  Tonight, however, I received a very needed blast of positivity from Jessica Sinsheimer and Julie Kingsley of the Manuscript Academy.  If you are not familiar, Manuscript Academy is an online resource for writers that aims to help prepare them for finding an agent.  On the website are a series of video courses and lectures, and options for setting up conferences with agents and editors to work on a manuscript or query letter, when preparing a submission.  Tonight they hosted a live event for members, focusing on questions surrounding the difficulties of submissions, and I was fortunate enough to have my question sel

Coordinating Begin to learn to make each move within the pattern, not as one on each side, but as though it were one motion by all the body, think that way, but then, later, it will be clear each bit must know for itself what to do, but first, it is important to move all as though it were one motion.

 I did not get to work writing this morning, as I tend to do most days, and most of the day was quite busy, but I still have managed to get quite a bit of work done this evening, including a number of poems I am rather pleased to have written.  That is not to say that they are good, but that they dealt with important subjects for me, and which I have had difficulty writing about in the past.  I think I am recognizing that I want to let go of certain things I used to hold onto as a writer, though I do not know what that means in a specific sense.  It is more that I found myself writing certain kinds of poems that were more personal in ways I often find difficult, and the feeling that it really is more a matter of habits, and of choices, and of certain pretensions, or, perhaps, biases is a better word. For some reason that is difficult to explain, all this is reminding me of the experience I had as I progressed in writing essays.  I was fortunate to have been taught to write essays decen

I Knew Them It happens, I knew them both, had not seen him in so many years, and the other, well, I saw him at the memorial, which I only found by chance, was there for other reasons that were not connected, and learned of it then, though all that is not the point: I did know them, both of them, one through the other, in a way, but that is another story, and not at all important. I knew them both, that is all, that is how. If you had known them both it would have been clear.

 A few days ago, I happened across a comment by a literary agent asking writers to show respect to editors and agents by not sending work to their emails over the weekend.  It is a reasonable request, and it mirrors a complain I have had for some time now, about the proliferation of rejection letters I receive during weekends or at non-business hours.  I received a rejection in my email at seven in the morning today.  What a great start to a Sunday.   At other times, I've received them in the middle of the night from editors in my time-zone, which is only an issue if it happens you are awake, but if I am having trouble sleeping and look at my phone, it does not help me to see a new rejection hit my inbox, but, truly, I would forgive this if I knew I wasn't going to receive them on the weekend.  The thing is, I feel even saying this, here on my blog, might be detrimental to me.  That is why I didn't respond to that tweet the other day, suggesting that it was not only an issu

Do Better It must be practiced, but practice must not be practice, must be the same as the act itself, is not to be some variation, is not a game or half an effort.  What is the point if it is not real?  How can it be done right if it was not done right before, was not practiced as it must be when the time comes, but always remember to save energy for the real thing.

I wish I could explain to my mother how I feel, but it is clear that any such attempts are destined to fail.  The fact is, I have a great deal that I owe her, in ways that are quite specific, which had to do with her ability to help find me the help I needed when I was a child having difficulty in school.  I know that she was instrumental in my being diagnosed as dyslexic, and that she worked incredibly hard to help me overcome those issues in ways that go far beyond what many mothers do for their children in terms of educating them.  In part, this is because she does have a background in education herself, and had picked up on my issues before they wore officially documented.  I am certain that, if she had not been my mother, I would have continued failing at school without any real help.  I do not deny that she fought for me and stood beside me in ways that are quite significant to me even now.   At the same time, I know that their are also things in our relationship that have been d

My Grandfather Said it was an engine, the paperclip I had strung along a rubber band, told me it was not a simple thing, explained it, the transformation of energy into motion, the potential for it, explained it  as if it were a thing that anyone might know, the kind of thing any child could hear at home.

 I was more productive today than I had been much of the recent past, largely in the form of poetry.  I did some work on fiction, but it was, if I am honest, minimal at best.  The story I am working on seems to be taking its time right now, but that is alright.  I am trusting in this process. I know the most significant thing for me is often just to keep going until I reach the end with certainty that it exists.  As I have said, I often discover work I am doing has elements that twist and weave together in ways I did not expect, such as finding that some detail which I did not understand including serves in a significant role later in the piece.  If I keep going, I am certain I will discover something in the heart of what I am writing, which may not make the story itself good at this point, though revision is always important for any piece of writing.  In the end, though, the discovery can serve as important whether the work can be redeemed into something of greater value.

How Long Will It Take? You may have the time to search, I will leave so you are alone here with what you seek and what is between you, whatever else it is you do not need that might be found instead of what is so necessary, but I cannot be here, am not intended to help or hinder, can only provide the time to seek, to look and discover if you can tell what it is you must have.

As I have mentioned, I've had some tension with my family recently.  In part, this has been exacerbated by the fact that Melissa and I are eating dinner quite a lot at my Mother's house, as we do not really have a functional kitchen at the moment.  As a result, I've been attempting to take on a lot of the cooking duties, as I do like cooking and I would like to be able to feed my mother and my brother, Eugene, who has been staying with her during the pandemic.  We have been social distancing, but decided to include each other in one bubble, and so it is not a major issue for us to spend time there in that sense.  Their are many problems, and to get into the larger issues involved is too... involved.  But to offer a small illustration, I want to describe a bit about what happened today.  I went over to Mom's around noon.  For some reason, my mother has been deciding to eat quite a bit earlier than my family always has.  Melissa used to be annoyed that Mom always wanted t

There Was Not A Thing there at all, nothing was present, but there was absence, which might be considered as a presence in a sense, because we do have zero, it is quite important remembering we have zero, and of course, it was space, which is itself something even when nothing at all is there but a vacuum.

I do not really know what to put here tonight.  As I said last night, though I keep writing, I am finding myself rather exhausted in a physical, emotional, mental, and even spiritual sense.  The events unfolding at a national level are just astonishing in their ability to continue to be upsetting without anyone really doing anything at all.  On a personal level, I've had a great deal of difficulty in the recent past.  Melissa and I are still both crying almost daily because of Ulysses dying last year, and events following have often exacerbated that in one way or another, at least for me.  Both of us have had a great deal of stress in terms of our families, and it has been growing more and more difficult of late.  All of this, and we are currently dealing with our house being a total disaster, because we had committed to a remodel before Covid-19 hit and had little choice but to follow through at a certain point.  So, it is a bit crazy, and it feels silly to even express this, beca

Is This Progress? It is not clear if that place  can be reached, if it is possible to get to it  from this spot, it may be there was a way, way back there in an early part of the journey, but even if it were clear where that junction had been missed, it is not at all certain that a return to that place would be possible, if it were recognized. To go back there is not clearly an option: the place and time have passed, it is only what is ahead that can be considered, and the destination must not be changed, is too important, was the point of all the effort, the pressing forward; the destination cannot be altered, not without losing too much, but it is not clear how to get there, not from here, not now, not for so long it is not even clear when it was it seemed it might not be possible.

I have been writing each day, but it has been difficult, and it is often just the minimum of work.  In part, it is difficult to maintain motivation when I am finding that I can't place any of what I am creating, but the real truth is that I am just feeling overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted.  This year has been so insane in so many ways, and I have had a great deal of difficulty within my own family, problems that have come to a head after many years, which might be fine if it did not feel that their was no intent or desire to actually make anything better.  All this is, of course, compounded by everything going on with the country, with witnessing a purposeful effort to undermine the electoral process itself by the President with support if not collusion by many in his party.  But, still, I wrote today.  I did the thing I can do, and I will do it again tomorrow.

You Think I Brought It when I went there, but I had it secured in another place: I am not so careless, make certain to keep safe what is mine to care for, but I have brought it now, with me, here, have brought it, though it is not safe to carry it, to bring what is essential into the way of harm, for you, I have it here, because it is for you.

The past four years have been extremely harsh in the United States, and the divisions that exist in this nation have already been exposed and expanded by what has occurred.  There is already a dangerous fissure, and it is clear that it must be resolved if this nation is to move forward in any meaningful sense.  As I said last night, I am quite terrified of the current refusal by Republicans, particular those in office, to acknowledge that the election was properly conducted, and the narrative being developed is quite dangerous.  Consider the possibility of one of the two major parties in this country refusing to accept the President, refusing to acknowledge his authority and acting to undermine the faith of their constituency in the governmental process itself.  Their seems a real possibility that Biden might be sworn in without the Republicans as a whole ever truly conceding.  It is entirely possible that we will be hearing people call Biden the "fake President" and refusing

There Is What Is Good and there is what must be accepted, and there is the question of what must be done when reality creates a situation that is not at all acceptable, and it is clear that being an adult is in large part the capacity to cope with not receiving what is desired, with being dealt a losing hand, but what is to be done now?  What is to be done when it is clear a person cannot grow enough to accept  the nature of events that have happened already?  What is to be done now? What does it mean to keep letting a man think his tantrum is not seen for what it is? What can be said of those who only act as if it is right for heads of state to cry when they do not get to keep playing games with what belongs to the people?

 It seems quite clear to me that the actions of Republicans over the past few years, and in particular their recent behavior, have demonstrated a deep disloyalty to the notions of democracy that have long been hailed as the pillars of our system.  The fact that Lindsay Graham and others used claims about the "will of the people" as their reasoning for not allowing Obama to nominate Merrick Garland to the Supreme Court became a clear lie when they did the opposite this year after Ruther Bader Ginsburg's death, and that alone is enough to make clear that these are people who only care about democratic intent as a cover for doing what they wish.  At the moment, the fact that Trump is refusing to concede is a complete disgrace to all who have held the office of President in the United States before.  It is, in particular, a betrayal of George Washington's efforts to establish that office, considering that he stepped down at the time he did specifically to enshrine the imp

Reconciliation Requires Empathy It has been four years without compassion from those who rule, with a refusal to recognize pain that made citizens cry out, to bring disorder, show rising up was the only voice they were allowed, while hatemongers were encouraged, applauded, even invoked by that man as he sat in office as though he were not working for the people but as their boss, and now, as we celebrate the first steps away from painful circumstances, what does it mean that those who did this, who still wish it to continue, think it important for us to show them empathy, to make room for them, but maybe they should see what it is we feel now and recognize what they have done. 

Tonight, watching Biden speak, I had the feeling that their would again be someone in the role of President, a feeling that I have not had since Trump took office.  While his speech had aspects I was not fully enthused by, it was also clear to me that he is prepared to work in whatever way he can towards building a nation for all of its citizens.  It is still unclear if he understands entirely what that means, from my perspective, and I wish I had a stronger sense that I felt personally reflected and represented by Biden and Harris, as I know many do.  I am glad to see a Kamala Harris rising to Vice President, and it is meaningful for me to see the diversification of our administrative branch, and I also recognize that the cabinet may demonstrate a further commitment to those values in a way that I feel more personally connected to, and would be extremely meaningful to see the inclusion of individuals who are not Christian.  I know that Kamala Harris has a multi-faith lineage, but she

Is It A Haunted Keyboard? The keyboard came back because it was working when it was used on another computer, but when it came back it would start again to do the same things as it had before, typing when no fingers were resting on it, striking commands that require key combinations, random things, but only when anyone was near, not when it was alone, even if the computer was turned on, and never for anyone else, only here in this room when it is us, when we are alone.

 I have been attempting to remain productive this week, even with all the focus of life around here sucked up into the election results.  The truth is, a Biden win matters immensely but is also not nearly enough to undo the damage this country has suffered, let alone to rectify the circumstances that created that damage. It seems apparent that Trump has lost, and that he is not going to be able to force a second term through chicanery.  At least that is how it is now, but it is not over until the end, and that keeps dragging on to the next day.  It is such a strange time, with so much riding on these results, and yet the irony that they are only a diverting from disaster and not a true movement towards safety, at least not inherently.  I do not know what is to come, and that has been an overwhelming dread for so long, it would be nice if this could all be dealt with, but the election results seem a clear reminder that this is all to messy to be resolved that way.

When Will It Be Said It is clear now, isn't it clear now? Isn't their enough that we can say, can make a statement? Or is it still just hoping, is it not yet anything that can be trusted, a dangerous illusion? Or are the anchors having a good time gaslighting that man with a delusion of hope that only he would believe?

The words that man spoke tonight were just wretched in so many ways, and it is horrifying to see the destruction of values by one who has taken an oath to this nation.  That, of course, is normal for the current administration, is, in large part, the maxim of the operation.  For me, what stood out most was, of course, the use of specific phrases that are known as dog whistles for anti-Semites, in specific his repeated villanization of media and the wealthy.  That claims of Jewish conspiracies to control these enterprises have been in existence for centuries, if not millennia, including current manifestations within Q-anon, it is disturbing.  And yet, I have not seen anyone call out that specific aspect, choosing to focus on the many other deplorable aspects of what was said... 

Whatever Happens Friends, family, are scared, are waiting for trouble that they expect will begin soon, as soon as tomorrow or tonight, surprising it was not yesterday or right now. I do not know, but it is bad enough considering the need to consider it may come.

I am trying to be optimistic with the results, but also am afraid that being optimistic is just set-up for things to turn.  This slow burn of a process is wearing out all of our nerves, I know, and it is not looking as if the answer will be clear for at least another day, though that too is not certain.  This does not even consider the fact that Trump is ready to fight any way he can and to do anything that will make him the winner, even when it contradicts democracy itself.  The possibility that he might take some action that places the results of the election in jeopardy and takes this decision out of the hands of the people is too realistic given who we are dealing with.  But, it does seem, at the moment, that Biden is winning, and the process has largely gone smoothly despite the tantrums from the White House.  It scares me, I suppose, to feel that possibility growing right now, but I suppose all of us will be dealing with some level of that, a mild analog to living with any kind o

Even If The change is not a change, though it will be good if it occurs, it is only a change in this moment, but it is not anything more, is important, is historic in importance, but it is not enough to be a change, it will matter more what comes, but that is unclear, though, remember: the one who we hope will take control was a part of the system which created the problem.

 I do not really know what to write at the moment, besides to say that I am attempting to stay away from the news as much as I can at the moment.  It is not all that easy, to be honest, as I do share my life with a woman who spent twenty years working in a newsroom.  She may no longer be in the newspaper industry, but her desire to remain informed about things has not changed.  She recognizes, though, my needs as well, and so we can accommodate one another.  Right now she is watching CNN in another room, and I am here in my office, attempting to remain calm.  I have to hope that Biden wins, though I am not at all confident about it, and not even certain what will be if he does.  Still, for this moment, I want to give myself the luxury of having the feeling that tomorrow might bring positive change and the potential that things might not continue on the horrifying path that has unfolded over the last several years.

I Will Carry What I Must If it must be, if things will be that way, I  will carry what I must, even though it will tire my shoulders, it must be done, it will be, because it must, because the ache has never been so much before as to force an end, because it must be carried, I will be there, I will, carrying what I must, so long as it must  still be carried.

It is the night before the election.  Like many, I have already cast my ballot, a few days ago at an early voting location, and I am attempting to be hopeful that we may be able to rid the nation of the current regime.  Of course, I do not believe the election itself is enough to create change in a real sense, but continuing as things are now is a clear path to disaster, and I recognize the dangers that I might well face if this is not stopped.  Of course, their is the real possibility that even an outcry by the populace will not be enough, in ways that are even more upsetting than the typical oddities of American electoral processes.  It is terrifying to know that their is a possibility that the current administration is prepared to make certain they maintain power if they do not win, that this is a clear and intended strategy.  It is terrifying as an intention within a supposed democratic nation, even before the recognition that it might actually occur.  Considering that realty sugge

Remaining We must watch that what is left remains, is not vanished away: so much already has not remained, was ours but is gone, or changed to nothing, and what is left must be guarded, but it was the guards who took the rest.

 It has been another rather slow day, but I have been doing quite a lot of thinking, and putting things together for myself.  Some of this is, of course, connected to personal events, but a large amount has been more in terms of ideas I've had for things I would like to write about, as well as just the larger considerations of the world, in a general and more philosophical sense.  Much of that does relate to things I am working towards writing about, but the path forward is often not straight or clear.  I feel as if many of the things I am thinking about come across as silly or even just nonsensical when I attempt to explain them, but that is often how it is until I have a clearer sense of things.  Recently, I began to be able to explain certain aspects of my personal experiences in ways I had not considered before, and there is a way in which this only results from failing to find appropriate methods for communicating.  It is not only the matter of understanding a concept, it is o

Post Mortem There is not protection for all things, is not consideration even after the thing happens, is not recognition much of the time, are people who smile and think they have done good, have done quite well, what was needed, smile thinking  they helped  a person who feels insulted, wounded, it happens, it has happened, I know, it is me, both sides have been me on almost any day.