300/365

buried under
reams of poetry
fighting for air
and reprieve.

your desire to be better
rarely makes you good
enough. how many ways
can they demand
that we untangle and
retangle the obvious-

he notices the rain stains
before he feels the drops
from the sun shower
walking across the plaza-
a moment of deliberate
contemplation.
the naming of
fleeting recognition.

the extraordinary awareness
of mingled experience,
a spike on an ekg ride
jolts him from a reverie.
life is boredom,
but there is also this

shedding light
from beneath the
snarling web.

192/365

when i was young
i read a book in which
one of the characters
says to the other:
there are people who
when walking in the rain
try to avoid getting wet,
and another type of person
who pretends it’s not raining.

we’re riding our bikes in rain
(my daughter and i)
when i tell her about this line.
there’s an urge to scream or howl,
we’re both peddling vigorously
smiling. wind and rain  
enveloping us in a vortex.

you don’t have to tell me dad.
it was my idea not to wait out the storm
and just get on with it.

adventure is woven into the spirit
through simple acts of uncertainty.

23/365

spent a lot of time.
with the guitars today. carving out.
those three songs. again.

the rest of the day.
we played. the music loudly.
in the car. again.

the two cats minus the yard.
chasing each other. reminded me.
of dad’s song. again.

the skate park. a book.
new bikes. movie box.
pizza. salad.

it rained in the afternoon.
a gentle dusting. weighing.
the cool breezes down. again.

The Cracks Appear And Let You In

The R.E.M song in the car tonight took me back to the little Jones Street apartment and the days before Mozambique. Taking the trolley to SFSU, compiling my finally credits, writing shitty plays that no one would ever read about cliche characters on  Greyhound buses traveling nowhere, working at Kulletos and Pier 23. It was a time when I had crawled my way out of the darkness and the broken glass tables and nights of madness.

We bought furniture and cooked meals, smoked cigarettes on the little fire escape as San Francisco churned below us.

Graduation was months away, followed by a the long road and the unknown-  NYC and the dark continent just beyond reach in October.

It’s crazy how relationships that felt so real, fade and dissolve into fragmented memories we access at random times in cars years later in the future. Missing you tonight Cortney​.

So many of you, linger in those dark corners, leaking into my consciousness when the musics makes the cracks appear and let you in.

...

It rained for most of the day and besides getting lunch and going out to dinner, nothing felt urgent enough to warrant much attention.

...

I chatted with my mom in the morning, and she told me how tired she is working in the kitchen at the Tassajara Zen Center. But also how much she loves it.

It makes me happy that she is where she has wanted to be for years. She is now on staff at the Zen Center and living her dream and on her path- studying to be a Buddhist priest. I can’t wait to see her this summer and for the girls to see her in her element.

Lessons Learned:

• Be careful of the emotional charge music can carry. 
• It might take a life time, but at some point you can live your dream. 
• Not everyday needs a lesson

1. Tell the story of a song and here it takes you. 
2. What’s something you end up doing before you die?