Monthly Archives: January 2016

Love letter

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Take me back to San Francisco
take me to climbing up city mountains
they call Bernal Heights
with sidewalks made of staircases
and lined with pink flowers
I have never seen so pink
in my life.
Climb until your calves ache.
Take me to the feelings and the hip
take me to the tacos of the Mission.
Take me to the towers to the tourists
to the scrappy figures and tempting touches
along Ocean Beach
to the baths of the too fancy Cliff House
to midnight diners
bike rides
and convertibles.
Take me back to seeing the Pacific
on the other side of the world
for the first time
to the ghosts of hippies to flowers in hair
to dream-laden dusty golden merry-go-rounds.
To sunshine city lights and fog.
Take me back to standing on top of Angel Island
State Park and walking along with my soul.
Take me back to getting lost.
Take me to those feelings
to breathing in the ghosts of Kerouac and Ginsberg
in the heavenly stacks of City Lights
and waiting
hoping
and holding your breathe
that Ferlinghetti would
walk out of his
too high secret office and take me with him.
Take me back to cappuchinos
and Washington Square.
To camping on top of the World
at Steep Ravine on Mount Tam
fear of sliding into the sea
or rather
the sea would come and take me right downstream
towards the glow
under the big glistening bridge
and straight to Jack Kerouac’s heart.

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January

WRITE EVERY DAMN DAY.
Write with whatever you have wherever you are.
Write from your heart. Write from your anxiety.
Write from your desires.
You don’t have to write well. Or good.
To hell with spelling punctuation fancy handwriting.
Write because it makes you happy
and you damn well deserve to be happy. Everyone deserves to be happy.
Write until your hands ache. Write
the truth.
Write with bravery
courage.
Write lies.
Write the past the present what you want to come.
Write to stay alive.
Write for yourself.
Write because it’s your passion. Write because
YOU ARE A WRITER.
Write because it’s all you want to do, all you want to be.
All you are.
Write.

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It is okay

It’s okay to feel
It’s okay to feel feelings that are happiness
that are contentment
that are joy
it’s okay to be happy.
It’s okay to feel feelings other than your anxiety.
It’s okay to love
and let yourself be loved
and open up
and let down your walls.
It’s okay to get hurt,
to be the hurt,
if you hurt you will heal.
You always heal.
It’s okay to be,
its okay to just be.
And be all that you are.

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Truer Words

Stay golden: be the golden threads that hold
this unravelling world together. Be bright,
don’t let the weary fade you. Stay young, remember
what it was like to be carefree, to play in the mud,
to stomp in the rain, to have first kisses.
Stay true, surround yourself with those who
you feel comfortable being your true self around.
Let the gold things stay, and linger.

Be the light: be that great force that carries on
strong through the night. Be inspirational.
Let lightning stream from your fingertips, come out
your eyelashes. Be the lantern that glows
when the campfire goes out. Brighten everything.
Be the continual light for the world’s
rolled up American Spirit.

Be the crazy: feel discontened, feel abnormal,
feel everything, feel overwhelmed, feel anxiety,
feel belonging, cherish being the belonged,
feel hungry, feel passion, feel concerned,
feel curious, feel wanting more.

I am always chasing sunsets, but it is okay,
they are my sunsets. They were made for me.

I am alone, but it is okay, it is my alone.

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Meaning

Let there be meaning in every step you take –
and take every step with grace.
Let there be meaning in the star-lined sky
that tells you how significant you are
in your universal insignificance.
Let there be meaning in farewell embraces,
in wishing you well.
Let there be meaning in strange but smiling faces,
in humble, kind conversations
and in hearing the remembrances of you.
Let there be meaning in the ambiguous you.

Let there be meaning at the base of mountains,
in the scaffolding of the trees.
Let there be meaning in forgiveness,
in golden sunlight, in tears.
Let there be meaning in every person you touch –
and let every touch you make be heartfelt and real.
Let there be meaning in your whiskers,
in your wrinkles, in your fear.
Let there be meaning when you stand on rocks,
and meaning when you stand in the sea.
Let your meaning ebb and flow, but
always let your meaning Be.

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Kerouac’s The Dharma Bums

I nudged myself closer to the ledge and closed my eyes and thought “Oh what a life this is, why do we have to be born in the first place, and only so we can have our poor gentle flesh laid out to such impossible horrors as huge mountains and rock and empty space.”

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums, 1958

Oh, what a life this is, indeed. 

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Birth in Existential Anxiety

Maybe I was born with existentialism in my blood stream
maybe I was born to die,
we were all born to die.
I have existential crises as I grocery
shop. I have existential crises with Harris Teeter grocery bags
in my hands
walking home with bread and milk.
I have existential crises as I walk by sleeping bums on wet
park benches as I stare out across
a bleak city
with bleak desires and more concern
for politics and war than meaning and life,
is this all there is. Is there meaning
in everything you do. Is this all
there will ever be
are you happy with your choices
your eyelashes
your patterns of sleep.
Quiet the world is.
Are the sounds of the city
the speeding rubber the blinking lights
is it skeletons shaking their brittle bones
are these dinosaur cranes meant to be our gateway
to heaven
are these sandy underground parties meant to be our hallway
to hell.
So uneasy.
So unsettled.
Was I born to become anything.
Does my cat have more meaning then me.
Does talking to my cat make me crazy,
Cassady where is the meaning in your life,
are you happy, am I crazy (yes) (aren’t we all),
should I ramble on to a therapist because I have no friends,
anxiety makes your internal emotions
the ones that reside in your organs
implode.
Should I move to the sea.
What if I was the sea
would I still ebb and flow, would I have meaning.
Was I born to become anything.

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Your heart

Upside down
like a fried egg with pepper and salt sprinkled on top,
or is it right side up:
that’s life,
always a Jack-in-the-box,
a terrifying, never satisfying surprise.
What is life, what does it all mean?
Not everything is delicate,
lace-lined and pretty,
covered in silver sparkling nail polish that shines.
Not everything is graceful.
There’s disaster, death, blood, torture,
pain, redemption, justification, forgiveness,
and messy freedom.
Not everything is true.
There are lies and broken promises,
persuasion and dissuasion,
dirty preludes, grunge, and empty soft-muttered words.
We go through life not really living,
as if life is the inside of a submarine with a slow leak
and the crew doesn’t even know.
Not everything is gentle.
When your heart has been broken once
it never fully heals,
and late at night
when everyone else has been asleep for hours
the quiet demons creep back in
and bludgeon the bruised walls
leaving you wounded
knocking you down
where your entire insides ache.
When it’s dark it’s so hard to look for the light.
But even feeling emptiness – feeling pain –
feeling alone and sad and angry and frustrated –
it’s all better than nothing at all
because it means you still have a heart.

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