Would That I Might

Melissa and I are arriving back home tomorrow, which is a little bit fraught, to be honest.  We have been dealing with construction for so long and there has been work happening while we were gone, but I am not certain what.  So much hasn't been done, and Melissa and I have been making due living in a small portion of the house and without many important facilities available.  Our kitchen has been dismantled and we only have a toaster oven for cooking, to offer an example.  We do have a refrigerator and are using the laundry sink.  I am glad we will be home, but I am wondering what we will find.

It May Be It Is Already Too Late or it may be there is time, I do not know, am unsure what I was told.  I don't want to check, I want to be hopeful until I arrive. I must go, why not be hopeful since I know I must go.

Researching cam be very difficult for me, especially right now, as I am working on a piece that hits close to home and much of what I am learning feels personal, not so much academic.  It is important work, I know, but I need to be able to take care of myself as well, and sometimes it is a lot.  Right now, I am also dealing with several other crises as well.  I think it may be time for me to take a break from this piece and work on something that won't be as intense, but I am not certain what that could be.  I think I might also do better when I get back home and can work on assembling the fragments and notes I have put together on this subject.  That might be a bit cathartic and would feel like the culmination of much of the other work.  I am sure I will have more I want to add and other areas to look into, but I can step back from that part of the process for a bit.  I don't know if that is really enough, but I will try it and see what happens when we get back home in a few d

A Phone Is Ringing It sounds like a phone that plugs in to the wall, nothing cellular, though, what sound can't be made by those devices?  I do not know where it is, of some open window is letting it sing into the night or if some other, a stranger is about with their phone, another guest or a member of the hotel staff.  It is ringing, no, it has stopped ringing. Was it answered, or did it end with no response? It is nothing I know or can know, is nothing but the questions that come, that ask for stories to fill all the blanks in the ledger of the world.

First night of our trip back and we are doing alright.  It was a long day.  We didn't get out if thr house until the afternoon, and had a few stops to make on our way out of town.  We visited Ann's grave and brought some flowers that were blooming out front of her house.  Once we got on the road we didn't stop until we had arrived, especially as we were worried about the potential for bad weather turning up.  It actually stayed clear and sunny for the entire drive, despite the warnings we had been seeing about possible storms.  

Nothing to Discard Remember to remove what waits there before you come, it is already there but is nothing, an excess of emptiness that seeps and spreads, makes openings, not holes but gaps. Not places to enter just spaces between that add nothing but distance and emptiness, a perpetuated isolation.

Melissa and I are going to be heading back to Florida.  We are leaving tomorrow afternoon and have the trip split up over the next few days.  It should be fine, but it is always a bit stressful preparing for the trip, and the weather may not be pleasant tomorrow or Friday.  If our schedule was more flexible, we would probably wait a little to leave so we could avoid the storms, but we have obligations that require us to be back in the next few days.

Could Be It is not, is only a might be, a possibility that could come into the world as a thing, later. Nothing is certain. It is a thing that is not, yet. It is a possibility, while other things exist, now, are here, are, exist. That is a difference. What is possible, what you can imagine might one day be and what already is. Do not be confused, consider both as what they are or are not.

Things have been so overwhelming of late.  In multiple areas of my life, right now I have major events, many of which feel like crises.  I am glad that at the least I have my writing practice.  I at least have this, and have remained dedicated to it.  I don't know what else to say about it right now, other than to acknowledge that I find something of great value in having the capacity to continue doing this work each day.

Is He Gone, Now? Maybe he is just there, just where I can't see from here, around a corner or behind a car or anyplace so close but not observable from here. It would be nice to go, to get up and walk off, but if he is not gone, if he is there waiting? No, that is no good at all.

I began reading a new source for my research tonight and it has opened up a great deal more of my thinking.  I discovered it while attempting to delve into a new angle, but found far more than what I had expected in this particular piece of work.  It is rather long and so it may take some time to get through it, and, in all honesty, I am not certain all of it will be fully relevant, but I already found a great deal that is illuminating and has propelled my thinking in new directions.  It added a great deal of energy and much that I was quite excited to explore in my own work.

More Than I am here, and you: here.  We is what we can call it, this thing of being here in a place, being together. An I, a you,  maybe more, but that is enough, is transformation. What comes of it? What is there to care for that is not mine and is not yours, that is here, now, is also real like either alone, either who lack what comes of both together.

I am getting an inkling, once more, about this book idea I have, though it is always a bit nebulous.  The premise itself is hard to explain, though I will try to give a general concept.  It is a book which addresses the reader and attempts to involve them as the main character in an adventure that is not happening in the book alone but through the experience of living while interacting with the book.  I don't know how that works exactly, or even what it really means, but I keep returning to this idea, keep having vague notions about how to get it started.  I need to sit down and write it, I think, before I will truly understand.  I need to trust that it is there, waiting and ready instead of delaying with the worry that comes from focusing on my uncertainties.

Consideration We are back here, have returned against expectation. I thought I would be there, not here, but there, but that place is not one where I can be, is not for us right now, is unsuitable, so we are here instead.  I know it will be seen as frivolity that we came, but it was needed. We could, they will say, have made other choices, but what do they know of our lives and needs? We must do as seems proper to care for ourselves. It is not a thing to dismiss, though it is easy to forget what matters. I think this was what was needed. Know that is true. Remember  that you deserve this much and more.

Melissa and I made it to Columbus this evening, but it has been crazy.  We arrived at the house and found it wasn't in a condition where we can stay there, so we decided that we needed to check in to a hotel for the night, probably for the next several nights, to be honest.  Of course, it turned out that tonight every room at every hotel in town is booked.  I called a major hotel chain that has at least a dozen hotels here in town and they could not find a room at any of their properties.  Eventually, we found a room.  It was incredibly overpriced, and when we got to the hotel, they didn't have working hot water.  They still wanted more than $400 for one night, which had seemed a bit ridiculous even before we knew about the hot water being off.  After another hour or so, we were able to get a room at another hotel, but it has been just exhausting.  I was ready to skip my work and just go to bed, but I knew I had to write, so here I am.  I wrote my prose and my poems and now I a

Along The Road We saw hills and a river we could not name and cows and horses and goats, though I do not think any goat we saw was named Buster Brown, like one of those goats we didn't see outside last night's restaurant  was said to be called. I wonder if he knows that is his name, if he hears it and bounces over or bleets in response. I have never known a goat, not well enough, at least, to use its name and expect a response.

Melissa and I left my mother's today and are heading to Ohio, to check on the house Melissa inherited this year from her mom.  We stopped on the road tonight and will arrive in Columbus tomorrow.  At the moment, I am sitting outside the motel with my phone, typing this and getting a bit of air.  I am glad to be off the road for the evening, though I kind of wish we were there already and the drive was over.

I Wanted to Be Alonr But Others Want to Be Here Too I should not mind, I have no right and no reason, should know, should not expect, was aware. It is nothing, is not anything. I had no reason to think  it would be different, have no claim, but here it is, here I am.

I have been in a very interesting creative space with my poetry, taking leaps with language that I I was not before, experimenting and playing and making new poems that feel new and fresh and different.  I am not certain what these poems are doing all of the time, am still learning what I am doing, but that is kind of the fun and the point and the way poetry happens.  There is an uncertainty, an adventurous uncertainty, an exploration.  It is play, and it is also quite serious.  I feel excited and energized by this work, feel as if I am pushing towards something new and exciting and quite a bit different, yet, also, still mine.

Missing Button No button there, not in the spot, other buttons, yes, others, yes, button and button and button-hole has the button for it, each hole holding, but no button for one hole, one whole button that is not even partial, is not at all or is but not near where the hole is, not sewn to the spot, not any longer. Gone, it has gone, plucked its own string, escaped with a pop and rolled all the way away, rolled where it could. "No hole can hold me," it said, "I am a button on the go."

I am glad to be getting done with my work early tonight.  I have a lot going on right now and things have been so exhausting.  It's nice to get done and have a bit of time to relax before bed, not to mention trying to get to sleep a bit early for once.

Not A Way Forward They do not have and do not know and are not lost for what is not. Night doesn't sink, and day is not a floating thing, it is all wind. Pass through the wind, it will be above and below. It will be all the places it goes. Give it over and take it and it will be set,  will be an unsettled sun, all the risings that will follow. What was not became what was and their was less then what it had been, was the same amount but much less as well.

I keep finding more things that I want to include in this essay, and having the liberty to just write what comes to mind is very helpful for me at the moment.  I know it is going to make more work for me when I get to the point of putting it all together, but I think it is going to be so much better as a result.  I am thinking that the revision process will be stitching those pieces together and then rewriting the piece as a whole to bring it all into alignment, and that is a lot of work, yes, but it also feels very good to me as a process.  I almost can't wait to get home so I can begin putting it together on my computer.  Almost...

The Anger Will Still Be There Tomorrow aiming at me, a weapon to cut and control, to make it fine to treat me however. The anger will be a good excuse for dismissing my needs or wants, will allow me to be pushed aside, to be put down.  It is an explanation for the lack of concern or consideration. It is what the anger is for, it is not the cause of the anger. The cause does not really matter once the anger is achieved. It is just a means.

Because I am not at home right now, I am doing my work on my phone and not on a computer.  I am accustomed to doing this at times, but in the past it has largely been in terms of poetry.  I am finding that this way of working has altered my approach to the essay.  At home, I would just open a document and start writing, keeping the work linear and structured.  Within my current circumstances, I often write in my email, so I am not working from a central document.  Many nights I have just started writing and thrown myself into the middle of a discussion about some aspect of my material, and it feels liberating.  I think I am finding more that I had never considered and better ways of communicating what was already in my mind.     

Knees It was a long walk and you were hurting even before the walk,  but no one said it was so long. It was nothing  a small distance. It was not so small. Still, you made it there. Getting back, though, that will be even worse.

I got through my work tonight but I am dragging right now.  I need to finish up and get myself to bed, so I am going to keep this short and perfunctory.  I am glad that I am committed enough to get it all done on a night like tonight; even if this entry isn't anything much, I at least got it done.

The Idea  came back too late, when it could not help, when it had been finished without the help of that one idea. Where had it gone? It was not about at all, was impossible to find, it wasn't in my mind at all, wasn't in any corner I searched, not until it was too late, then it was back acting like it was never away.

There are many things that have been distracting me from my writing lately, many of which are not so great.  Some has to do with family and is very thorny at the moment and it has been difficult.  I am lucky in so many ways, and I do not often recognize that, especially not in the recent past.  I know that I need to have more positivity and gratitude, even in the face of so much that feels impossible and pernicious right now.

Reaching Out It cannot be only my effort, only my hand reaching out. You too need to reach, or, at the least, must grasp and hold what reaches you. I want to reconnect. We have slipped apart. I am reaching. I am.  This  is how far  I can reach. Are you there? Will you meet me or at least take hold of what is before you?

I keep working on this same piece of prose, writing bits and pieces of it, taking my time and. not worrying, right now, about making it cohesive.  I often just write a few paragraphs without considering the structure.  I will pick an aspect of the idea I want to consider and just write about that.  The next night I might return to the same aspect of my subject or just pick another and move on without concern for how it connects together.  I know I need to, at some point, put it together, and I am confident I can do that, but I do wonder how I will know when I am ready.

Impasse It can only be this, now, not the other way, or any other way, anything that is better, that is good at all, any possibility of that has been taken away, and I do not know what to do. I know this way will destroy me, is already destroying me. I did not choose it, I did not.  It was  what they did, and I can't continue to be in the world where they did this. It is the only world, of course it is the only world.  

I worked on more of my essay, going back through some of the material that has been so difficult for me, and I felt that I got somewhere with it tonight.  I still have more to do, have deeper to go, but I think I have the shape and the context and I think that much of the work around this will be about filling in the details, adding more to flesh out the skeleton.  I still have a great deal more that is waiting to be done with this piece, of course, but I am feeling as if all the work I have been doing is, at least coming into focus.

Over Soon it will be the last time I am here, the last  of this is an end, a way ending, a life.  I want it to be forever, like it felt promised to be. There are  no promises here, you say  there never  were.

I think that I finally got to the core of this essay and why it has been so difficult.  I was working on a piece of it that was almost tangential, but, in tying it back together, I finally came to understand what the essay is really about.  Thus is an important step, though it may be that I need to begin again, or, at the least, revise what is there in light of what I now have in mind.

It Is So Hot and the a/c is cranked already and it is still so hot, and I think I may take a shower, now, late into the night, not because I am dirty, though I am sweating and could be cleaner, but because it is too hot and after a shower it will feel cold for a bit. A small amount of relief, an illusion of change, but what I can get.

It has been long and frustrating day and I am quite tired.  I did get my work done, which is probably the best part of today.  It was a frustrating and disappointing day, and I have been dealing with that lot lately.  I am wanting to find more hope, but I also am aware of the reality around me, and a great many things are in upheaval around me right now.

The Plan Is Broken I do not have any answer, there is nothing to say, nothing that is good or makes this better. I am here.  It is this way. Things occurred and they will not change. It must be fixed, but how can it be? It will not be made right. It is another thing that is not correct. I do not know what else to say. It is not an answer, or it is not satisfying the way wanted of an answer. It is this way.  I do not accept it. I want it corrected. That can never happen.

I spent a bit of time this afternoon reading some poetry from a number of poets whose books I recently acquired, just peeking in and rearing a poem or two from each book.  They are quite different poets, Eileen Myles, Gerald Stern, and Wislawa Szymborska, but each is masterful.  It was rejuvenating in a way that often is not easy to find, but taking time to breath through the words of such poets for myself was refreshing in a way I had not expected today.

At Home I should go back inside, not waiting longer, returning right away. It is time, will be late, even, by some standards, will be trouble, a problem. I am always causing a problem, wanting and needing. I do not want it, but it is the way it is. All of it is proper, as a way of knowing and being, a response to what is. The tree grows up and down, the roots spread and speak through the earth to so many others. I long to feel rooted again. We are leaving too much behind. I have no strength, did not even have it, then. I am not sure what to say or so. The tree is one with the forest. How do I speak of it? I must.  It is all here. I am not certain what can be, any longer. It is lost.  It is lost.

I got back to work on my essay again tonight and it felt a bit more energized.  I went through some things that I had struggled with before and wrote about them from other perspectives and with a different approach, a different it felt like it was working.  I am making progress here, though I know it will be a great deal of work to edit this together once I feel I am truly finished.

Exclusion It is not good to me, is not anything you can pretend is intended  to include me, to be for me. If you meant it when you said it was for all of us, prove that is the truth and find a way to do something that will not be  what you already know will only push me away. I do not want to live in a world  where this will happen.

I decided to take a detour in my prose tonight and wrote on a new subject instead of continuing the same essay.  I will get back to that piece tomorrow, but I wanted to step away for a moment.  First, I think it can be helpful to pause and allow new ideas to develop.  Second, I had another piece in mind that was pressing to come out.  I think that the work I did tonight was a step forward overall and I trust that, when, tomorrow, I return to my previous work, I will do so with some shift in perspective or approach, perhaps small, but enough to allow something new.

It Was A Good Day So pleasant, though full. I hope you enjoyed it. I believe that you did. I believe when you say it, mostly believe  when you say it, but I am never certain. I hope you appreciated it, and that you recognize I enjoyed it, enjoyed that we spent it this way and together.

I think I made some progress tonight, in terms of the prose piece.  I stepped back and wrote a bit more directly about the issues I have been  having difficulty expressing clearly and wrote about it more loosely, without considering it in terms of the whole piece, just as an exercise exploring the idea and it opened up in a slightly different way.  I still think their are aspects of the subject I need to explore more directly and in a different way, but this felt much closer to what I am seeking to achieve 

It Cannot Be That Way Cannot be.  It must be another way.  Maybe  it can be something equivalent, can be what you want in all sorts of ways but not all of them. Maybe that is enough. It is what can be, so it is for the best that it be enough.

I have continued work on my prose, in particular this one piece, and while I am making progress and feel that much of it is improving and changing, I am still finding myself stuck in terms of how to communicate certain ideas.  I spoke a bit about this before and had hopes it would shift, but I am finding myself still stuck working through this aspect of the work.  I suppose the answer will have to come from writing more until I find the way to get it right.  I do not know how much work that will take, but I have to hope it won't be too long.  I think it may be that I can find a metaphore to help explain it.  That can often be helpful, as it strips off the context and focus on the specific aspects that matter for what is being discussed.  That is helpful, not only in terms of how they serve the work and the reader, but in how they can help me to reach a new perspective and thus open up new possibilities in how I can write about the core ideas.

A Safe Delusion It may still be I am choosing all this, am not doing what I know I must, not allowing myself to do it. Or is that just another fantasy? I thought it would be so simple, that all was prepared, that I had what I need, all and more, the necessities to make it work. I believed it was just taking action, but when I did what I had not yet dared it meant nothing.  It was nothing in this world, is nothing at all, and it might be better to blame myself than to accept that it is this way, that it will not change, that nothing I can do will change it. If nothing I can do will change it, there is nothing.

I am finishing up my work early again tonight so that I can get to bed early, as we are traveling still.  Tonight we are in South Carolina.  Tomorrow we are on to Virginia and then we will arrive in New York on Friday.  Spending t he day in the car is oddly exhausting, even when I am able to share the driving duties with Melissa. I think Tomorrow might be a little bit shorter than the drive today, but I am not certain.  I could have it backwards and tomorrow is our longest day.  I do not feel like checking, would rather imagine it is short than face the reality of a longer day of travel right now.  I know it will be fine.  We made sure to plan it so we won't be on the highway more than aroubd six hours in a day.

Cold Shower It seemed a simple thing, not anything difficult or questionable, a small thing, a minor decision, but now, it is clear, I chose wrong. It was such a simple thing. I wish this did not seem typical.

I am exhausted.  Melissa and I drove to St. Augustine today, which was only around four or five hours in the car, but we had a lot to do to get ready before we left, as well.  Tomorrow is a longer drive, taking us through Georgia and into South Carolina.  I am glad that I got my writing done relatively early so I can get some decent sleep tonight.

They Say It Is A Return a resurgence, but I do not recall when it was  they were ever gone. It cannot be a return when they were here, when they never left but were always here.

Tomorrow, Melissa and I are leaving to go up north to visit my mother and to take care of a few things in Columbus as well.  It will be a rather busy trip, and certain recent revelations suggest it will not be entirely pleasant.  I am feeling anxious about the whole thing, and still need to do a bunch to prepare for the trip.  I did my writing, of course, and once I am done with this I can deal with some of that stuff before going to bed.  I will need to get up early so I can get to work.

The Obligation Lingers I do not know why I am expected to spend time  with him to be kind when he is cruel. He was part of all that was done, and which is no good. I do not know  what I should say or why I must be there to say anything at all. Why do you insist, even now, when everything is torn apart, when he chose to set it all asunder. I do not understand. I have no reason to trust him. I have tried to be kind before and it has done nothing, has never brought anyrhing from him but more harm. Why do you insist I make such an effort?

I find that it can be a bit challenging to get back to work on the prose piece, especially when I am following on from the kind of meaningful work I did yesterday.  It takes a lot to get to such a ace and I don't want to put pressure on the work at the moment.  It is hard to keep up with the daily work; by remaining loose and detached about the writing at the moment.  I trust that keeping on with it will get me there, eventually.  I know that this approach has been helpful for me before.  If nothing else, it has me producing a great deal more prose than I had been before.

The Rooms That Are Silent are all so dark. I can sit there,  but it will mean  sitting in the dark. This room is bright, but it is also noisy. Some other nights  I would choose the dark.

I have reached a point in working on my non-fiction piece tonight where I am having a bit of difficulty.  I am attempting to write about ideas that are a bit thorny and complicated, and I know that some of what I have to say could be misconstrued if I am not careful.  This has to do with the combining of certain marginalized identities in a way that is complicated and messy, and I don't want anyone to be offended.  I think the key will be writing a bunch on the subject and getting to a point where I feel more comfortable expressing these ideas.  I also believe that my difficulties have a deeper aspect, though I can't explain it fully.  In part, I think this is a part of the essay that I feel is central and important, and it is also something that I feel strongly about.  I have been a bit blocked around this subject, and I think that has been true for a number of different topics and ideas in my writing.  I am able to put them on paper at times, but not as directly, and I think

His Advice Is about having stability, control, even before anything else. Do not even start, he tells me, until it is secured in place. It is not a difficult thing, is simple enough, but it matters, that is what he makes clear. It must be done first, the rest is clear, is nothing new, is more of what has been, he understands that, I understand. It is nothing new, but he wants to be clear about what should be done. He wants me to protect myself, wants me to be careful. No one speaks of danger. Neither of us mention it.

Yesterday, I had a but of a breakthrough with my writing on this new prose piece.  Today, it felt more perfunctory.  I know that is normal.  Not every day can bring important new insights, even if it feels a bit disappointing on these days.  It feels like I am sliding backward, but that is not at all the truth.  I am still making progress, am still writing and doing the work.  In a literal sense, I am moving closer to finishing this specific piece, and in a larger sense, I am also moving forwards by remaining dedicated to my daily writing practice.  I know that if I stay the course and keep working each day, it will lead to more insights down the line.  Even if I do not experience that progress each day, I can still recognize that the daily commitment matters, that doing the work each day is necessary, that the periodic breakthroughs are the results of this continuous effort.

Do You Notice The Danger?   It is there, right before you, right there, where you choose to be, and I feel it is important you know. I know I should say nothing, it is never my place, is a violation, a crossing of boundaries, but I worry.  It is dangerous. I know you think you are safe: that is the greatest warning of the danger.