National Poetry Month!

April is National Poetry Month! 2009 marks the 14th celebration of the month, and I want to encourage you, my dear blogobois and blogogals, to share your poetry!

Unfortunately, so much of what I have written in my life has disappeared into the ether known as "hard drives." It makes me sad... I have a lot of older stuff that's pretty damn decent, IMHO, and I'm afraid that most of it has disappeared. I used to use Pathetic.org to store a lot of the poetry and stories but, once, in a fit of drunken rage at my then first attempts at social networking (no one ever responded to my work), I deleted my account and all that work is now, sadly, gone forever.

And then there's even more that has disappeared on old computers long since fried or recycled.

In fact, the only stuff I know that's left -- how sad is this -- are the few pieces I've posted here on QueerCincinnati.com, until, one day, when I get fed up with the drama and homosexuals in general I will delete this site, too, in a fit of drunken rage... and all will be gone.

I don't know where that story came from, but it has a lesson: always have a backup and a paper copy. We can't trust the information age as much as we'd like to. Anyways, I thought I'd post something of mine (that has been posted before) that's poetry-like, and encourage you to post something of yours!

I want to rub my hands across the soft cream of your body. I want to make indentures into your stomach and watch the white spot linger and go. I will watch you drowsily roll over towards me, open your eyes briefly, and smile. I could watch you smile forever. I could hold you here just as long. Entwine my arms around yours, underneath yours like a complicated puzzle. I will wrap my body into yours, matching jigsaw for jigsaw, as I curl and scoot closer to your. The sound of your mumbled, half-dozed how are you brings me home. The feeling of flesh and bone. The gentleness of a lover. Kiss gently the soft skinned cheek, trailing my lips over your neck and onto the top of your spine. Slowly run my hand across the bone down your naked back, clad only in blanket and cold air. You shiver and move closer to my warmth. The minor heat of your body does not fill me, but your presence does. I move my hand down your peach soft legs. Your scent of baby newness and budding leaves reach my nostrils and I take it in. What are you doing. A half heard and half understood question; I lean in to run my lips against yours, open now. They are dry like mine. I feel you smile, and I lick your upper lip in response. You are too much. Does it matter who says it? We both feel it as I reach around to hold on. I inhale your exhaled breath. You are ticklish down where your body meets your legs, so I caress that spot. I want you closer. You jerk and giggle a little. We are matched skin for skin but still I want you closer. Still I want you more. I play briefly in the patch of hair below your belly button. You press closer still, tighter, nearer, further into my embrace. Hands rubbing hands, fingers pressing into flesh, lips running over shoulders and necks. I will not let you sleep until I have had my fill of your body, of your breath, of your being. More than an exchange of lust, it is an exchange of desire and love. I know that tomorrow I will climb dazed from your bed. I know that tomorrow I will have to leave this. But, for now, a tender feeling and perfect moment.

When the story of my life is written, that will be classified in the "Barry was in a creative writing class and dating a boy that he had yet to have sex with" Period. There's actually a lot written from that particular part of my history.

Neil Aquino, over at Texas Liberal, shares with us this poem:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Toilet paper is white
But not when you
are through.

HA! But he actually gives us a much better piece that he's written here:

The mob on the one side.
The few on the other side.
I’ll take my chances
With the Niagara below.

So, here's the 411: I know we all think we're the greatest writers in the world when we're working on something, but it takes some gumption to put it out there. And I want to encourage you to share something you've written ... or perhaps write something special for me in the comments below in honor of National Poetry Month.

Oh, and don't forget my mother and I run a little blog that, I suppose, it's my turn to write on -- Mom and Son Writing. When our respective difficulties came up in the last few months, we became less active. But it's worth checking out occasionally. This is my favorite piece from my mom (Chapstick), and this my favorite piece from me (Random Phone Number).

Today at the busstop...

Today at the bus stop a woman asked me for a cigarette.

She was carrying two handfuls of bags, her hair was mussed and matted with rain, and she had perhaps six teeth in her mouth. She had crossed the road from under the protective cover of the doctor building across the street. Her jacket was weighted down with water, so I imagined it had not been her first crossing.

She stood too close and spoke directly to my nose, speaking with the distinct nasal sounds of someone with a disability, yelling to make sure I would hear her: CAN I HAVE A CIGARETTE PLEASE?

"No."

She nodded - OK, still shouting - and walked to the bench and plopped down, where she began to wail and cry and scream at the empty street.

I turned my iPod up - it was, after all, Britney Spears - so that I didn't have to hear her anymore.

---

Some days, I'm saying something; some days, I'm just saying...

HIV/AIDS: My story...

I wrote this a long time ago on the blog I wrong for the then AVOC (and you can see the original post over there at their myspace account ). I was back reading for another blog I'm working on this evening and I found this, and it always bears repeating...

-----

MyStory: Why I am where I am -- Barry's story

My brother introduced me to HIV. We were both in high school and he had donated blood at some student council event. I couldn't donate because I was having sex at that point, and really enjoying it (and the American Red Cross would not accept the blood of a man who has sex with men). I had been finding myself in places and situations my mother most definitely would not approve, and doing behaviors that I now identify as "high risk." No one had talked to me about condoms at that point.

But it was my brother, the senior, who said the letters H-I-V to me first. I suppose I know what they meant because I didn't ask, but this is the first memory I really have of understand.

So I remember my brother, standing in the kitchen and laughing at the letter that was sent to him from the American Red Cross: "I don't have HIV." My mother laughed with him. I shrugged it off. I didn't connect HIV with sex, drugs, or even gay people at that point.

Four years later, I was a sophomore in college. I was a closeted out gay man. Everyone knew, but I didn't know anyone and I had fallen into the trap of gay.com. I was using the web service as a means of finding some sort of connection with other gay men. My roommate was there all the time, so my furtive searches were few and far between, but they were there every moment that I was alone. And every time I found something -- because who could turn down a lonely, somewhat attractive, energeetic, eager-to-please 19 year old college student?

I'm not saying I was preyed upon, but I made myself the prey.

I met a guy. We'll call him Hugh. He must have been 38 and suffered from psoriasis of the skin, but he was somewhat attractive, owned his own house, was interested in dating me (imagine me, finally dating after not having anything I could call a boyfriend since I was sophomore in high school). I would have a boyfriend.

Of course! Of course! I would love to! Of course I would love to come over every day! Of course I'll ignore you comments that demean and degrade me! Of course I'll ignore that I am completely dependent upon you for my mobility! Of course! Of course! Of course!

I let him fuck me.

I had never had anal sex before. I was a 19 year old with 150-200 sexual partners, most of whom I couldn't remember and 99% of whom I didn't even know the first name of, and I had never been fucked. And he did. And I bled and I bled and I bled.

But no one had talked to me about HIV and I didn't know, but I knew I could get something... I think. Right? Something.

I remember the first time running to the bathroom and trying to wash it out. There was no condom; no one had ever talked to me about condoms. I tried to douche with soap and water; no one had ever talked to me about anal douching. I know I did a lot of crying that first time -- it did hurt -- but it went away. And it happened again. And again and again and again.

That was me, a 19 year old getting fucked for three months without a condom by a guy literally twice my age with psoriasis.

But it's ok, he says he likes me and wants to date me.

(All of this would come back years later, when I thought I was stronger when I accepted the constant comments on my size from a new boyfriend -- how wonderful my fat was, how much fatter I was than most, how much he loved my fat and could I have more -- and developed my own little case of anorexia. Things that go around...)

But we never dated, although I asked again and again. He just fucked me. Sometimes once a week, sometimes seven times a week. And each time, I think I bled. I remember blood, but it may simply be the stain on my memory and a fear that lingers with me.

Finally he said, ok, we can date, if that's what you want. Three months later, him promising to date me, and it's now what I want. But let's get tested first. I guess we missed a step in there.

It was my first time being tested and I was negative, but I remember being scared. I remember telling the cute blonde girl at student health services everything I was going through and everything I had gone through and letting it feel cathartic. And although I don't remember her responding to me, I remember identifying for the first time: I have a self-esteem problem.

Self-esteem is a funny thing because it's so masked in social work and that kind of feel-goodisms some people get into. I had a real self-esteem issue and I was following a 38-year old man with psoriasis around because he was the only one who I thought would love me.

I was negative. It was beautiful day, and the sun was shining. I remember feeling like it was ok, like the world was ok -- sure the lady said come back in six months to get tested again just in case, but I was negative.

This is the situation with a lot of people who get tested for the first time, save for one major difference:

He was positive.

He was positive.

He was positive.

And I cried because I remembered the cum and the sweat and the blood (oh god, the blood... and could you get it from tears or sweat because there was a lot of that too). I thought I was crying for him, but I wasn't.

He was postive, and he was 38.

And I was negative, and I was 19.

And I never saw him again because now he was concerned about me getting it.

Now he was, because I was negative and nineteen.

And he was positive.

WRITING: Updated

Feel free, as always, to check out my two other blogs. First, the one with my mama:

momandsonwriting.blogspot.com

And my "column:"

www.gaycincinnati.com/queercincinnati

Thanks

GENERAL STUFF: Instructions for your body..

Also from the old blog, but let me preface this by saying this: I get, too often perhaps, the whole "I don't have sex, but I do like to get head" thing on a regular basis. It is very very real this conception -- thank you, Bill Clinton.

I don't know; it just amazes me that people really think that they are completely devoid of responsibility or concern when they lay back to get head.

I mean, after all, it's not like it's sex or anything...

Anyways, I think I wanted to become a sex guru at one point so I wrote this piece and this mini-article...

-----
instructions for your body.
I want to rub my hands across the soft cream of your body. I want to make indentures into your stomach and watch the white spot linger and go. I will watch you drowsily roll over towards me, open your eyes briefly, and smile. I could watch you smile forever. I could hold you here just as long. Entwine my arms around yours, underneath yours like a complicated puzzle. I will wrap my body into yours, matching jigsaw for jigsaw, as I curl and scoot closer to your. The sound of your mumbled, have-dozed how are you brings me home. The feeling of flesh and bone. The gentleness of a lover. Kiss gently the soft skinned cheek, trailing my lips over your neck and onto the top of your spine. Slowly run my hand across the bone down your naked back, clad only in blanket and cold air. You shiver and move closer to my warmth. The minor heat of your body does not fill me, but your presence does. I move my hand down your peach soft legs. Your scent of baby newness and budding leaves reach my nostrils and I take it in. What are you doing. A half heard and half understood question; I lean in to run my lips against yours, open now. They are dry like mine. I feel you smile, and I lick your upper lip in response. You are too much. Does it matter who says it? We both feel it as I reach around to hold on. I inhale your exhaled breath. You are ticklish down where your body meets your legs, so I caress that spot. I want you closer. You jerk and giggle a little. We are matched skin for skin but still I want you closer. Still I want you more. I play briefly in the patch of hair below your belly button. You press closer still, tighter, nearer, further into my embrace. Hands rubbing hands, fingers pressing into flesh, lips running over shoulders and necks. I will not let you sleep until I have had my fill of your body, of your breath, of your being. More than an exchange of lust, it is an exchange of desire and love. I know that tomorrow I will climb dazed from your bed. I know that tomorrow I will have to leave this. But, for now, a tender feeling and perfect moment.

------

This was written a while ago, but I still think it's sexy as hell. Someone described it as a piece that "takes your breath away." (It is copyrighted, btw, in that you have no right to republish it or claim it as your own. Just tell me if you want to post it somewhere). I use this as a lead in to our first topic:

"How to Say Hello to a New Partner"
This is one of those touchy subjects. Regardless of how you meet the person, or how long you two have been together, the act of taking off clothes and starting to get down to business is a question at that. What is appropriate to say? What is appropriate to do? How much of your kinkiness do you want to display? What do you tell the person about their.. ahem-ness? These are difficult questions, so I can only speak from the experience that I have... and that's men.

1. It is very appropriate to comment on a man's body and what you like about it. It is a compliment to find, amongst 150 imperfections that every person sees in themselves, someone who finds a piece of you they adore. Think about it. You probably think your belly is to big, or the hair is misplaced all over your body, or you forgot to shave right, or any number of other minor things that we fret over on a daily basis. I know it seems strange, but men have similar insecurities about themselves naked as women, whether they admit to it or not. Finding things that you adore about their body -- whether it's their shoulders, or their legs, or that little area right below the belly button that on muscled men is in the shape of a V -- is a great way of saying "I am looking at you, and I like what I see. I have no problems looking at you naked, or being naked with you."

2. On the flip side, it is entirely inappropriate to comment on anything regarding the size of his penis. If it is extra small, don't even mention it. If it is extra large, don't even mention it (I hesitated about this one because I've made this comment before -- but it leads to egos and difficulty with making further comments). Unless it literally the largest penis you have ever seen or ever will see, then don't talk about its size. Men's penis size is probably one of the biggest insecurities we have, by calling attention to it you reinforce a whole set of norms and stereotypes. Saying that it's "the perfect size for me" is appropriate if asked by your male partner so long as you don't qualify it (don't backtrack on the rule and say "I like them a little smaller" or "I was afraid it was going to break me in half!") Just use it as you would any other and enjoy it.

3. Do not go immediately into anything. Allow sometime undressing, touching, feeling, and fondling. Men: your reward (if your partner is female) will be a much more easily satisfied woman, plus comments on how much fun you were to all of her friends. Women: your reward (if your partner is male) will be a man who can actually please you. Foreplay is not a golf term -- it actually has a biological function (lubricating and exciting both sexes) that should not be ignored this early on. Too many people complain about their partners, the first time they have sex, just get done so quickly. Well, guess what, it's because you're both nervous. When in doubt, pull it out. There are an infinite number of other things you can do to build up to the moment that you may enjoy. Orgasms last 1 second to a minute (average, although the latter is rare); it's all that stuff that leads up to it that makes it good.

4. Take the opportunity to get to know your partner's body, find their "spots," and take advantage of the wonderful opportunity to have someone in your arms -- naked or otherwise.

5. Undressing is neither a race nor a full-on contact sport. Now, agreed, there are some situations where it's hot and heavy and wild and you just have to rip into each other, but that's not the most common experience for anyone (dare you to prove me wrong). Take your time, reach underneath clothing, enjoy the slow addition of more skin against skin. There is no requirement for you to stand in front of each other and undress. Undressing each other is really sexy and is a great way of slowing down the act and increasing foreplay. In porn, a lot of people find the part where they are taking their clothes off (or their clothes are being taken off) the hottest part, even beyond the actual act. Make this your hottest part.

6. Know your limits and stick to them. Period. If you have to, tell your partner what you want to do and what you don't want to do. Always, always talk about what you're doing (not necessarily in that dirty sort of way), but definitely in an open and honest manner. Communication, eye contact, and a subtle word or phrase can be arousing as well.

7. Feel free to laugh at each other. So you thought wearing that hot little number you got from the lingerie store would be sexy, but it turns out to be just over the top. Have a good laugh. Laughter is exercise and helps build relationships (when was the last time you build a friendship off of tears and quiet). Make it ok for your partner to laugh at you and make it ok for you to laugh at your partner. This will make the whole experience more enjoyable and will downplay that awkwardness.

8. Always understand that both of you (in most cases) are nervous and a little shy. Neither of you have been with each other and you don't know what to expect. No two people will be the same. If you have a few awkward moments, just let it go and find a way to make a joke to lighten the mood. If he comes off as a player, he probably still has the same insecurities as everyone else.

9. Never be afraid to try something new -- you should be trying something new in your life every day, but experiment and see where it leads. If it is kinda weird and doesn't feel good, or makes one or both of you uncomfortable, stop doing it and try something else. Again, communicate.

10. Finally: there is no law that says that once you start you can't stop. If you aren't feeling it, or you want to wait, do that. Don't feel like this is a requirement just because you're both naked and grinding, or because you're both 3/4 undressed. Just say it's not quite right and go back to heavy petting, if that's what you've been doing and that's what you feel comfortable doing. Again, maybe you just needed a few more minutes to prep yourself, or maybe you really aren't ready and you want to step off for a little while.

I guess there is one more thing but it's the basis for everything: go with the flow, relax, and make sure you are comfortable where you are and with what you're doing.

When saying hello to a new sexual partner, there's a lot of stuff that comes up inside of us -- and it's not just part of his body that's coming up. We're talking emotions, memories, psychological baggage, and any number of other things. It's important that when (if) you get to this point, that it's enjoyable and you're not in over your head.

So, take a deep breath, smile, and have a wonderful afternoon.

WRITING: Bucket List

My mother and my blog -- Mom and Son Writing -- was quiet this week, but it's my fault because I sent her a piece in response to the latest challenge (BUCKET LIST) that, apparently, was very disturbing...

This is a little preview, very much in its first draft form:

As I lay in my bed, my heart racing from the seemingly unending list of drugs I had taken the night before, and my brain racing from the memories of
manic sexcapades, I clutched the piece of paper and pen my roommate had given tome.

"Write," she said. "Write it out."

I squeezed the soft pen, ran my thumb up and down the body of it. It was too small to be used for anything but writing.

I turned onto my side and looked at the blank page. One of my best pieces of writing, I felt, went something like this:

ON THE NATURE OF THE FOUNDATION OF CREATIVITY AND GREAT ART:
A blank page

I can be a bit of a drama queen in my writing.

And I decided that I may want to publish it, in the meantime.

Since she was disturbed, and I was confused as to why she was disturbed (the piece becomes graphic, I suppose), we kind of took a little break.

However, I finished the assignment and will be posting mine tonight, in case anyone reads :-). It will be up by the morning.

BLOGGING: One year

It's August 4th, which marks the one year anniversary of this blog!!!! :-)

So what have we been talking about it. Per the categories I use:

GAY STUFF -- 80 posts
ELECTION 2008 -- 73
CINCY GAY SCENE -- 60
BLOGGING -- 55
GENERAL STUFF -- 55
OHIO/CINNKY -- 48
PERSONAL -- 38
HIV/AIDS -- 25
POP CULTURE -- 19
POLITICS -- 14
WRITING -- 9
LAW -- 8
WEARING *WHAT* WEDNESDAY -- 7
MIAMI UNIVERSITY -- 6
ENVIRONMENT -- 4
FAGWATCH -- 4

And here's the post from the old blog that announced the creation of this one:

Hahaha. For those who have not heard yet via email, here's the news: I am tired of the myspace/facebook thing. Really I am, so I'm just gonna do what I do best -- complain and complain and complain and offer inspired commentary on the world around me... and, in the process, complain :-).

Queer in the Cincy
cincywestsidequeer.blogspot.com

It'll be great. Join me and 74million other people. :-)

MUCH LOVE. THANKS TO ALL FOR LISTENING!!!!!

(And congratulations to Kate the Great over at Kate's Random Musings for her... get this... FOUR YEAR anniversary! *MUAH*)

PERSONAL: My heart is full of you...

To all of you --

To the crazy ones, who fill my life with absurdity --

To the stable ones, whose lives I wish to emulate --

To the foreigners, whose experience I live vicariously through --

To the potheads, who giggle constantly but only give love --

To the drinking buddies, whose never ending screams of "OH MY GOD! LET'S DO SHOTS!" mean more to me than anything else, especially when I'm lonely --

To the scared ones, who think I'm still crumbling but have started to see me come back together --

To the intellectuals, whose respect for my intelligence makes me feel good about myself --

To the hippies and the hipsters, who just make me feel cool --

To the pretty ones, who, ostensibly, are just there to make me feel pretty, too, but really have shown me more love than anyone else --

To the partiers, who were there in darkness and still talk to me --

To the penpals, whose letters make my day complete --

To the straight ones, who help me find balance in my otherwise overly gay life --

To my family members, who are better friends than I could have ever hoped for --

To the distant ones, whom I'm terrified to say I wish they would write more for fear of them thinking I'm depressed again --

To the lost ones, who need to know that I still love them and think of them daily --

To the work buddies, who make my nights go round --

To the drag queens, whose drunken antics make me laugh --

To the bartenders, who know how to make my drinks just right --

To the alpha (fe)males, who think they can control the direction of the night but really want to just laugh at our antics --

To all the users and the losers, who have taught me more than everyone else listed above --

To all the sometimes and fair weather friends, who pop up at just the right times --

To the people who answer my phone calls and texts, and the people that no longer do --

To my ex's -- boyfriends, sex partners, and others -- who began my education on how to be gay, and good at it --

To my crushes, especially those who crush back, who make me giggly inside --

To my bosses, whose capability at forgiveness seems to know no bounds --

To the people who have rightly rejected me, who don't understand that I understand --

To the people who have lovingly accepted me, who don't understand how much that means --

To my readers, who don't ever understand what the fuck I'm talking about but somehow keep coming back --

And, of course, to the rest of you whose lessons and stories are yet to be told --

iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

My heart is filled today, and I wanted to share it with everyone.

That is all.

Much love.

WRITING: Mom and Son Writing

Just mentioning my new project with my mom.

Mom and Son Writing

Shhh.. it's a secret. I was gonna keep it a bigger secret but my mom think it's fun and it feels like we're being published.

BLOGGING: Writing

This is all written on the bus from work this morning, in regards to an as-yet unannounced project (I have lots of these going on).

Writing is exhausting work.

It's a craft I have dabbled in for years -- having completed a book at the ripe old age of 14. It was poorly written with plagiarized themes and plot devices, but it was probably a solid 200 pages. That's no small feat at that age. I wanted to be C.S. Lewis or Raymond E. Feist. I envisioned myself to be, to use a contemporary, J.K. Rowling, and I genuinely believed this book would take me there.

Now, I get to play at being the gay Carrie Bradshaw, but the perks of being a "writer" are amazing -- you set your own hours, people listen to any stupid thought that pops into your head, and the long hours in front of the computer are finally justified.

Of course, days of thinking and planning -- hours of revising, reworking, and rewording to evoke every subtlety, every nuisance equates to five minutes or less of your time. I hope that five minutes is multiplied out by hundreds of people that later read your work, but few enjoy the luxury of being widely read.

So, I continue with my notepad and the inevitable carpal tunnel I will suffer in the hopes of sparking interest in a handful of people. If you're reading this, it worked.

Sending my work out -- the process of "publishing" -- is the worst, and the top of many books. Check your local library. Even sending out to just my "editorial board" is painful as there is, inevitably, a lag time between when you send and when they finally respond. Clearly, they don't understand the importance of immediacy.

Judge me NOW.

After blogging, particularly after poignant, thought-provoking, or controversial posts -- or, for that matter, just about anything I spend more than a second or two on -- I wait for responses or some sort of indication that someone is reading. My blog counts the number of unique IP addresses that stop in, and I have a device -- a widget -- that tracks who is stopping in, where they come from, and how they got here.

They are the most annoying things in my life, but also the most invaluable because it helps me gauge my work.

More importantly, the single best gauge is the occasional comment from a friend or a random person: "I was reading your blog the other day..." It fills me with excitement because not only is someone reading, they might actually be paying attention to what I'm writing enough to reference it later.

And, of course, there are always doubts. I know I'm doing ok because I've convinced myself that I'm always wrong.

I know nothing I write seems like anything important -- usually just flippant ramblings -- but I write like I talk. And, when I put it out there to be read, I'm putting everything I am out there to be judged.

WRITING: The book

Why post a picture of handwritten pages? 112 of them to be exact.

I pulled my book back out today. It was sitting in piles around my still disastrous room. And now it's in one place with brand new, empty pages in it to be written it.

It's a small step, and I'll give you a small preview from page one:


It took just a five days for the oceans to lose their identities -- the continents of the Earth becoming over sized islands in a massive unified world of water. The oceans spread as far inland as Kentucky -- entire states, whole population buried under water. Sharks now inhabited Wall Streets -- swimming the halls of world's economies, devouring the remains of millions that just floated by. Whales were spotted spawning around the hills of Rio de Janeiro, watched by the outstretched hands of Mary as if blessing the next great flood. The Empire of Japan was no more than an archipelago, the mightiest economy in the world now just dotted the water with only the tops of the highest peaks. Word has it that the only places and peoples spared were those that inhabited the most remote and forbidding environments -- made habitable only because they were the last places on Earth. An evacuee joked that he was headed for the Amazonian rain forest -- great real estate, he laughed in the maniacal way of someone who was crazed for something. If he could find a boat to make it. He was going to make his way in a world where the dictates of capitalism were now tenuous and suspicious, a lost precept where the need for more left us wanting the very basics of survival. Every inhabitable place left was being land-grabbed by pioneers who had never expected to leave their homes. They were suburbanites traipsing through a mysterious and lost land.

Except here. Except here.

Sitting on my porch, looking down at the packed street below -- evacuees trying desperate to make it somewhere, everyone going uphill and the downhill lane empty save for a few abandoned vehicles and the occasional brave soul -- I praised my own salvation. The gun I had pilfered from a neighbor's house moments after they had left protected my acre -- a full acre! now a true luxury -- from unwanted intruders and would-be squatters.

Except here. Here, the neighbors were close, and we were watching and guarding and protecting. Together, we would hold our own and hold our hill, and we would survive.

Clearly it's a first draft, but it's not half-bad, actually. I got stuck last time. I wrote myself into a corner and I think I found a way out.

WRITING: Tension

I know what you mean when you press against me.
I wonder if you think about me when you are with your wife.
Would I be too forward to say that I think about you?

Later update... an old old postcard from Postsecret that I thought was applicable here.

WRITING: Inspired

Inspired.

"Not every fag is a happy fag."
"And you...?"
"Are not meant to be a happy fag."

Who needs guns. We kill ourselves.

WRITING: A preview

I don't know, but I'm working on a piece that ends like this:

"But what if I love you now?"
"Then you will write some really good poetry about unrequited love. Just
remember to dedicate your first collection to me." I turned and walked away, and
left him there in the snow.

Blah. It's melodramatic.

Maybe it should be a movie.

WRITING: iloveyou

Also wrote this a few years ago, gonna tweak it soon.

iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
butiamtoochickenshittotellyou
soiwont
mywordswillfindthemselves
plasteredonwallsyouwillneverpass
writtenonpaperyouwillneverfind
saidintophoneswithnooneontheotherend
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

WRITING: Instructions for your body

Wrote this a long, long time ago... well, four or five years. I'm looking to tweak it. Anyways, here it is.

I want to rub my hands across the soft cream of your body. I want to make indentures into your stomach and watch the white spot linger and go. I will watch you drowsily roll over towards me, open your eyes briefly, and smile. I could watch you smile forever. I could hold you here just as long. Entwine my arms around yours, underneath yours like a complicated puzzle. I will wrap my body into yours, matching jigsaw for jigsaw, as I curl and scoot closer to your. The sound of your mumbled, have-dozed how are you brings me home. The feeling of flesh and bone. The gentleness of a lover. Kiss gently the soft skinned cheek, trailing my lips over your neck and onto the top of your spine. Slowly run my hand across the bone down your naked back, clad only in blanket and cold air. You shiver and move closer to my warmth. The minor heat of your body does not fill me, but your presence does. I move my hand down your peach soft legs. Your scent of baby newness and budding leaves reach my nostrils and I take it in. What are you doing. A half heard and half understood question; I lean in to run my lips against yours, open now. They are dry like mine. I feel you smile, and I lick your upper lip in response. You are too much. Does it matter who says it? We both feel it as I reach around to hold on. I inhale your exhaled breath. You are ticklish down where your body meets your legs, so I caress that spot. I want you closer. You jerk and giggle a little. We are matched skin for skin but still I want you closer. Still I want you more. I play briefly in the patch of hair below your belly button. You press closer still, tighter, nearer, further into my embrace. Hands rubbing hands, fingers pressing into flesh, lips running over shoulders and necks. I will not let you sleep until I have had my fill of your body, of your breath, of your being. More than an exchange of lust, it is an exchange of desire and love. I know that tomorrow I will climb dazed from your bed. I know that tomorrow I will have to leave this. But, for now, a tender feeling and perfect moment.