Sunday, October 12, 2014

Die Geheimschriften und die Dechiffrir-kunst

There are rules to this thing.

There are the parts of my life that I can write about, there are the parts that I may never write about, and then there are the other parts. The parts that are kind of in the… in-between.

When I come to one of these parts, usually I write about it in roundabout ways. Like I might change all the names or drown it in blood. I might write about it a long time after it happens or before it happens. Or maybe I will write one story you can see but there will be another story written underneath – written in milk – so that if you hold it over a flame, the real story appears in thin brown letters as it dries.

Saturday, October 4, 2014

I Left Her for a Concrete Garden Gnome

Dogs or a gnat. Three dimes, Tuesday, or the space where an old lamppost used to stand. Your Uncle Charlie’s left pinky finger. Dust motes or the long, raspy guitar solo from the studio version of “Free Bird.” Or myoclonic jerks. Or the declining entertainment value of the television program, “Homeland.”  

Tell me: Are our loves less worthy than your own? Less deserving of respect somehow? Can you look me in the eyes and say they’re any less central to our being?

Less sacred?

He caught my eye from the other side of the yard of a neighbor of mine. It could have been the hat. It could have been the ants that ran across the surface of his poorly-painted beard. We made love under the full harvest moon and by morning, I knew this was what I’d been born for.

It was who I was. It is who I am. I was born this way, don’t you see?

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Bad Brains

They shaved half her head so they could break her skull open and they scooped out the bad stuff inside.

I typed those words. Me. Just now. I did. Really. I typed those words and then I got up and I paced around the room.

I stared out the window. I saw a little dog straining on a fat man’s leash, trying to go meet a daredevil squirrel. I saw a Monte Carlo thud by with a flat tire and a spiderweb windshield and no apparent driver at all. I saw flowers. Me. Just now. I did.

I thought about some things – things that were not Dana and were not brains and were not that sentence I’d just typed. I tried to drum “Moby Dick” on the wall with two jumbo-sized orange highlighters. It sounded alright.

Then I sat back down and I looked up at the screen. That sentence was still there, just like it was when I left it.