journal selections

Here is an example why I don’t write as often as you would like me to. My rambling is borderline schizophrenic with random thoughts; incoherent babble about indescribable aching. The following entries were scribbled into my leather journal (over the course of two years) in no important design or structure:


“whatever happened to old-fashioned letter writing? the kind with stamps and mail boxes and surprises? whatever happened to pencils and tear-stained paper and intentional expressions of affection? it’s been replaced my twitter and my space and text messages.”
“i feel like a windshield smeared
with fog and ice and rage leaking from unsuspecting bugs
and a gloriously defiant defroster…”
“note to self: write m___ a letter soon, and tell him to go now, he is forgiven.”
“…but i can’t be sure. sometimes, instead i’ll settle for maybe forever for now. after all, i have forgotten the names but not the faces of those baptized in the breakwater. it was epic, and i was there to witness the falling dove and heavenly voice.”
“after all, you’re still here. right beside me when i’ve lost my way. thanks for meaning it when you promised, ’till death shall we part’. i am forever in debt to the bashful freshman in the grey t-shirt. birkenstocks. red toenails. seems like yesterday; that river in a canoe for two.”
“she asked, ‘what color is the sunset, daddy?
it’s a fusion of orange and purple and black and blue.
it’s the color of my heart as we speak
the breath hanging in the air
like a question unanswered.
what color is the sunset, daddy?
to be exact, i’m not sure of much of anything these days. but of this, i am confident: this snowbank is our couch. and i’d rather sit here with you. right now. this moment. than to do anything else in the world.
it’s the color of tears; salty
down my face an ocean on the carpet where i am fully present fully somewhere else. i am tired of repression. suppression. depression. and the self-hatred.
i am numb to the words of affirmation that used to fuel me like a drug.
it’s the color of dry heaving and the ejaculation of hopelessness.
it’s the color of prescription medication. anti-everything.
it’s the color of trust in circles of tears and prayers and battle cries for deliverance. it’s the color of a God who is counting down the hours until my groaning will be no more.
what color is the sunset, daddy?
it’s the color of melting snow in a blistered fever. it’s the color of doubt and wonder and phone calls avoided and endless pacing around the living room and wilting and starving
love sick hope starved sleepless. two days without food or water.
it’s the color of whisper and gossip and a personal protection order. it’s the color of b___ and k___ and j____ coming over unannounced, late at night to try to convince jamie to leave me. it’s the color of distance and transcendence like a runaway labrador retriever who will not respond to my calling. it’s the color of a leaking roof as randy points out the inevitable future and i can’t help but see my own reflection in the mirror of each splash. it’s the color of professionally religious letters sent to a plastic judge. it’s the color of rocks thrown from unexpected people in unexpected ways. it’s the color of the breath that leaves my lungs at the last email received.”
“this afternoon my dad took me to a detroit tigers baseball game. i’ve never been to comerica park before, it was beautiful! 41,259 people in attendance. i began to wonder if i could somehow be the catalyst to spark a wave through the stadium. so i went down in front of the crowd and began to shatter my vocal chords, trying to ignite the attention of the masses. ‘on the count of three we’ll all stand!’ and the people around us will catch on. screaming and jumping and recruiting and pointing and sweating as if the sky were about to collapse unless we all come together in a unification of magnetic rhythm. it worked.”
“7.13.08 – 952 am. sunday bloody sunday.
i am sitting outside in the morning shade with a hot cup of hazelnut coffee and rocky at my feet. i am [gasp] content. breathing in; exhale self. finding a rhythm of wait. shhh, listen: the wind is shining. the sun is blowing. i am staring at the cloudless sky. somewhere else. metamorphosis. transformation. evolution. new creation.”
“…heal this heart of mine! so angry and afraid. vulnerability haunts me like the neighborhood bully always calling my name under the streetlight for another session of accountability in the presence of a thousand witnesses. i lace up my combat boots expecting a blood bath, surprised to find unexpected grace.”
“i am a thousand miles silent, bleeding from the wreckage
a collision in a whisper
barefoot on the highway
my favorite jeans are torn
and the witnesses are sick.
i am unspoken. requesting an ambulance with no insurance.”
“this morning i climbed the endless stairs overlooking the dunes at hoffmaster state park. in the distance the torrential winds pounded the waves of lake michigan against the sand. i stood trembling with a felt marker, scribbling graffiti into the wooden railing: ‘love wins.

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