Wednesday, June 20, 2018

do something

"And Jesus wept."

I am not a religious person, but these words moved me. 

My county's leaders are corrupt and immoral. Some of them are truly evil. 

Nothing else seems to matter right now.

Children being torn from their parents and kept in abandoned buildings behind chain link fencing like animals is almost more than my brain can comprehend and my heart breaks. 

I will put my body on the line, I will raise my voice, I won't quietly sit in the background. This is the time when our moral fiber is tested and we must all be strong, stand up, speak out or forever be on the wrong side of history.

To stand back is shameful. If you don't do something, be ashamed.  
Silence is complicity. 

Monday, June 18, 2018


I am writing in public. When writing in public, I use the smallest font I can. I hate the idea of someone reading over my shoulder. Not that they would, why would they? But what if they did? Horrors. 

Inevitably they would catch a glimpse when I've spelled something wrong, like GLIMPSE, which I just a moment ago spelled GLIMPS but then I caught the error and fixed it, but what if someone saw that before I noticed the mistake? Would they think I think there is a singular GLIMP? God forbid. 

Out of context, anything can be embarrassing or damning.

Also, fruit salad should be cut into smaller bits because eating it in public alone is sort of gross.

Do you take the bigger chunks in smaller bites? If you stuff the whole thing in there, you can't chew it and sometimes it gets wedged on the roof of your mouth and the only way to save the day is to pry the food out with your your finger. So then, smaller bites it must be, but what if you're afraid you'll bite the fork and chip a tooth? That's scary. How about you just pick the chunk up in your bare hands? Not like you'd feed sugar cubes to a frickin' pony, but as daintily as possible, between two fingers for a demure nibble here and there? But perhaps eating fruit chunks with fingers is just unforgivably tacky and gross no matter how dainty or demure.
Fruit salad grapes are usually icky. I recommend skipping those. 

Also swallowing is loud.

Monday, June 11, 2018

Writing Poetry

Writing a poem can take me years. 

The first draft usually comes to me quickly and it's heady stuff, exhilarating. After that, editing the thing, that is where the real work lies, and that can take years. 

At some point I need to let it go. 

Lately I haven't had a glimmer of a poem, except for that haiku like thing I shard here on the blog, or was it the other blog? Anyway, even though it was only three lines, that was stewing for a couple of years. 

I didn't change it much from the original, but it did take a long time for me to recognize it's poem-ness, 

I carry a notebook with me most of the time. I was flipping through an old one, from 2013, and I came across only one line in the entire book that really stood out.
                                 As I carve the seeds 
                                 from the soft fruit
                                 I think,
                                 children learn by example

It's been said we should write what we want to read, and in my head this is a nice little poem, complete, as complete as it needs to be for my personal taste, but I'm certain that others wouldn't feel the same, and though it's been simmering away in that little Moleskine for five years, I'm not sure it's ready. 

Saturday, June 9, 2018

Stay put, don't go

If you are considering suicide or feel hopeless and helpless, please call the Suicide Prevention Life Line. 

Call 1-800-273-8255
Available 24 hours everyday

please don't kill yourself.

I spent the winter and spring seriously contemplating suicide.

I managed not to do it.

I beg you not to do it too.

Don't do it.

It's easier right now not to do anything,

so do that

Do nothing.

Just lay there in your bed and cry
or don't cry if you are out of tears,

But I beg you
stay put,

don't do it.
stay here.

Don't go.

Stay put.

Tomorrow might suck
but it might not.

And a week from now might not suck too.

And there are sunrises and sunsets and puppies.

Also flowers, music, and the smell of sweet grass.

Really, those things are worth living for.

It's the small stuff.

There's lots of small stuff.
Much of it beautiful.

Even some of the ugly small stuff is beautiful.

Some people lose sight of that,
but don't.

You never know what song is going to come on the radio next.
It might be good.

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

in the small things and quiet places

I changed most of the posts on The Unicycle to draft before I said goodbye the last time a couple years ago.

But after making an effort to write The Unicycle again, and in an effort to get some inspiration, I decided to check out some of my past posts and drafts. Seems like I'm always depressed. That's the one thread that holds everything together. 

It seems I'm always depressed and have always been depressed. I cannot think of a time in my life when I was not, to some degree, depressed.

It is tedious living like this, and I can only imagine that it's tedious reading about someone living like this. 

Maybe that's why I can't think of anything to write about. 

My recent major depressive episode was severe and though I now find myself sort of able to cope I still carry with me the weight. It's a lighter burden, no doubt about it, a lighter weight, but it's still draped over my shoulders like a heavy wet wool shawl. It's a weighs on me. If I think about it, it irritates me. I'm uncomfortable.

I'm so tired of it. 
I'm tired of writing about it. 

Here's a little haiku like poem I've been thinking about for a while. It doesn't conform to the usual 5/7/5 and at this point I don't care. I still think it's pretty.

the slope of mountains
birches bent
curve over curve

I wrote recently that poetry is a little like photography. There is a moment in time captured, it's the now of the past held still to experience in the now of the future. HUH? What the fuck. I'm a fucking loon.

And skipping along in my own little brain, I'm suddenly, for some reason, thinking about "God". Who knows how brains work. Nobody, that's who. I'm just going with it. Hang on. 

I've been a non-believer for most of my life. I believed in a sort of God-like being as a little kid. I was raised by a parent who did not believe in the usual God.

She lost patience with all that when she was a Catholic mom trying to attend church with a small baby and was told children did not belong in the sanctuary. She thought, in her way, fuck that shit. I am sure she would not have put it in those exact words, but the spirit of the words would have been at the heart of it all. 

I remember taking a walk together with my mother. I asked about God and she said with her hand on the trunk of a young maple tree, God lives here. I knew she didn't mean just that one tree. I knew what she meant, because I felt God in the trees in the woods behind our house, and I felt God in the big rock, and in the clover, and the dew on the clover. I felt that God must be a very nice fellow, and if he lived everywhere, everyplace must be a nice place.

As I got older I called myself an Agnostic. Who was I to say if there was a God or not?

Then time went by and I grew more aware of the horrors that happen every day, and I became cynical. Bad things happened, and there is no justice. Eventually I thought, nothing matters. I felt if God was real and let bad things happen and God was an omnipotent God then God was an asshole.
I felt that if God had no control over the horrors of the world, then God was not an all powerful God but rather a hapless god, a powerless god.  I liked the second choice better, but then I wondered, why do humans put so much faith in a powerless deity?

I started thinking about the world in a more logical and scientific way and there just was no place for a mysterious god-like entity. It didn't make rational sense. I called myself an Atheist. Being a good human and being an Atheist actually makes a lot of sense to me. Many of the most decent people I know are Atheists. People who do good not because of a heavenly reward but just because it's the RIGHT thing to do.

Throughout all this, I suffered bout after bout of depression, and basically life always hurt.

So time went by and I got oldish, and once again, I became inconsolably depressed. Being a living human was UNBEARABLE. I didn't think I was going to make it.

I know that people with faith in God are happier than the rest of us, but I chalk that up to a sort of a disengagement with reality, no offence. It's easy to be happy if you think there is a reason for suffering and that you'll get your good reward in heaven and everyone who doesn't think like you will be burning for eternity in hell.

But what sort of loving god sends people to hell? And why would I be cool worshiping a god who damned some people while letting assholes who could pray their sins away on Sunday go to heaven? And what good purpose is there for fascism, brutality, murder, if that bullshit is "God's will", fuck him. Why not just make people good? If you could, why wouldn't you?


Recently, I ran into a nice community of people who all have some notion of spirituality. Not necessarily the God of the Bible, but whatever that notion of a "higher power"' means to them, whatever in their hearts feels like the right good thing, and I thought, for fuck's sake, I've tried every other damn thing, even though I don't believe in ANYTHING, I'm going to pretend I do.

I'm going to conceive of my own god. I get to choose what that god is all about, and then I'm going to believe in it without any evidence or proof. Logically, this argument is bologna. People do this ALL THE TIME, and sometimes bad things happen when they do. Some terrible person can say, "My god told me to..."fill in the blank with any number of heinous crimes people have committed using "God" as an excuse. 

But I'm a trustworthy sort, and so out of desperation, I thought, give it a whirl.

I still don't and never will believe in an all powerful God, I still think of myself as an atheist, but for me, maybe there's room for a flawed and compassionate god who says, "Yes, life is a sucking shit hole. I feel ya. I am discouraged too. I wish there was something more I could do to help but here's a cute little dog, here's a pretty flower, here are some mountains, here are some trees. I know it doesn't fix anything, but maybe it can take the edge off." 

The god of small things and quiet places consoles me.

Monday, June 4, 2018

Honest Question

Here's a little something I wrote recently that I have no recollection of writing:

Why is poetry
monopolized by academic
who make their poems
mercury elusive
like a noodle
you can't pierce with your fork?

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Back in the saddle again

I wrote this blog a long time ago. Then I quit writing, I just ditched the whole thing.

Recently I thought, hey, I wrote more when I had a self imposed and semi-public deadline, so maybe I should jump on the Unicycle again. But I couldn't log in, so I just let it go and started Remedial Gym. For someone not interested in fitness or sports my choices of titles are silly, but moving on.

Now, for whatever reason I can not log into my new bloggityblog. So, here I am again.

Frankly, I missed the Unicycle and I am happier to be out of Remedial Gym.

I wrote some pretty funny things here, and I'm glad to have access to it. The stuff on the other blog was lackluster and tiresome.

So that's the long way around a very boring topic.
Hopefully I can pick up some of the old momentum I had when I first started Stationary Unicycle.

I worry that my last depressive episode ate my brain, sort of like emotional syphilis, which is not, by the way, a sexually transmitted disease. Just to clarify.

I wonder if writing every day, whether or not that writing winds up here, will reconnect me with the part of myself that I liked.

We'll see.

So if by some weird technological glitch I wind up back in Remedial Gym, that'll be a thing and whatever.

But for now it's nice get back into the mindset of one who teeters on one wheel but manages to stay upright.

Maybe though, instead of being stationary, I could find a way to push myself in some direction. Forward would be nice.