365 Pages

A year is gone

The next one started

For those you left behind

Impromptu moments

Jack in the box thoughts

Pepper mental meanderings

The pictures of you

Driving through snow

Rachel by your side

Phaedra nestled on your lap

Flashes of countless meals

At nameless diners

And that damn Army Green coat

The songs on the radio

I imagine they tell me you are close

You became our Big Chill moment

I kind of hate you for that

Your quick smile is gone

And so is your laugh

The verve and the melancholy

Lay down with your sarcasm, and wit

So many quips silenced by a shot

The odd pinch in my chest

And breath caught in my throat

Salt my thoughts of a fast fading past

I choose to remember, I choose to hold on

Your ashes are scattered

Your belongings all gone

No footsteps remain

Only the pictures

My eyes captured

They grow fuzzy each day

You are ephemeral now

I envy you that

The Truth of the Matter


Maybe I am not sorry at all

The chafe of skin on skin in summer

Light cotton clings to skin as sweat beads

The sun roasts

The clouds float

Days pass slowly

Synapses trundle electrical currents

From left lobe to right then back again

Thoughts on an infinite loop

Become Archimedes Screw

My downward spiral

Pinning me to your specimen board

All my colors on display

Stacks of calendars mark passing days

Irretrievable moments of my being

Gone in a blink

Seconds wasted pondering years gone by

Chances and choices stolen and made

Circumference and tethering I did not get far

And yet I traveled the world

I know Sycamore from Beech

Klein Blue versus Sky

Agamemnon to Arthur

The road to Ithaca and Route 66

The answer to Azúcar as tin floats over the Amazon

Si y crema por favor

I enjoy my coffee sweet and mellow

There is too much bitterness in this world

I ask for forgiveness, life is easier that way

thoughts before sleeping

There is a myriad of thoughts which occupy my mind the least of them might seem like fluff and nonsense and the greatest of them surpass the weight that Hercules must bear, most are worn smooth some as pebbles in a river, others have the lustre of a deep sea pearl that painful intrusion tended and mulled and eventually cherished for the lesson it brought and still some are as bubbles ephemeral, beautiful then pop they are gone.  I have not decided my favorite, I may never will.  All of them though they are the mosaic that is me.tumblr_ndt1ekQ14P1tj5iw2o1_500

Alone, On Sleepless Nights

I’ve counted every sheep there is followed closely by the cows on ward to tally up the geese and horses and all their farmyard friends before sitting here contemplating between the enumeration of the beasts living in high veld and savannas of Africa or creatures of the forests of North America. Whoever thought the transcendental nature of my thoughts would take me on such a magnificent journey in my quest for sleep?



I remember being young and looking at my parents and just thinking that they were adults.  I had no idea then what it means to be an adult.  No one taught me.  I have learned a fair bit now.  Still not enough.

I class myself as a failure.  I have not accomplished anything significant.  The work I have barely pays the bills and feeds my kids.  I make just a bit too much to get assistance and I cannot talk to anyone about this because it is depressing.  No one wants to listen to depressing things.  They call it negativity and they walk away or ignore.

I’d like to be doing something productive that allows me the ability to afford my own home, pay my own way as well as that of my children and just exist peaceably among my neighbors.  Instead, I live off the largesse of my family.  This sucks.  I am thankful for a roof but it maddens me that I cannot even return the favor by providing more to them in the form of rent and bills pay.

I work to overcome the spiral of sad thoughts, it just keeps getting harder.  I suppose I should be happy that I am in my 40’s and at least halfway done this useless existence.  Should I be reincarnated I hope I come back as a tree.

Dr Who the Capaldi Review

The 12th Doctor

Peter Capaldi. I was dubious at first, hesitant, and frankly disappointed at the idea of an older Doctor. I was planning on not watching one of my favorite shows because the selection of actor was not suited to my ideas of who the doctor should be. As fate would have it I found myself in a room where I could not avoid an encounter with the twelfth Doctor.

Here we meet an already regenerated doctor and an established companion, an easy plot twist to embrace for all Whovians know the modus operandi of this Gallifreyan. I enjoyed the change up and so it was then that I allowed myself to be tempted by the Scottish burr of Mr. Capaldi. As with every regeneration of the Doctor there is a period of vulnerability and in this viewing I found myself sharing in the uncertainty that this indeed would be my beloved Doctor.

The episode skittles through the patently obvious hallmarks of all Dr. Who shows, creating the comfort zone the anxious observer needs to maintain the suspension of disbelief in regard to this outrageous character. The lynch pin in this plot is the wariness of the assistant Clara. Clara gives voice to the my own reluctance to embrace this new Doctor. The resistance is mostly because his predecessors were handsome, trendy men with quirky poise. Now we are presented with an older man running about like Wee Willy Winky in a long white night gown and are being asked to take him into our hearts. Clara defends him to the teeth when challenged regarding her own loyalty. She reveals her intimate intellectual knowledge of him that proves she is a worthy choice for the Doctor and thus brands a place in the loyal viewers psyche.

The plot itself is interesting and I shall not spoil it for those who have not seen it but it does contain everything we have come to anticipate from Dr. Who, and even leaves you with hints at the greater interwoven plot line to anticipate.

Invariably, no matter his appearance I fall in love with the Doctor. A lifetime of following the world’s favorite Time Lord keeps me coming back for more, and the new season is no different. His intellect, his wit, his charm, his cunning all make the Doctor a brilliant choice for an entertaining evening of television.å

In Memoriam, GAJ, Jr.

I rose early today to make dough and homemade pizza. As I descended the staircase to make my way to the kitchen, I checked my messages.

I stopped.

My breath caught in my throat. It was news of a passing, no background, no preamble.

He didn’t make it.

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.*


This was not how I envisioned my July 31 starting, I cannot fathom how Rachel felt. My first thought was that I would never hear his laugh again. George’s laugh was infectious and uninhibited, and it was always a joy to hear.

A friend asked about my favorite memories of George. I could not answer. There was no specific moment that captures my mind but rather it is a swirl and eddy of moments that blend into the fabric of my life. When I think of George it is almost immediate that I think of Rae, one of my best friends and George’s other half. The stream of consciousness of memories flow mainly around our time at Washington College and I am blessed to say that our friendship remained throughout the years that followed.

One of the brilliant facets of George’s character was that he always encouraged everyone to be their most outrageous inner-self. He believed in each of his friends in genuine fashion. He was real and he let you be real as well. There was no need for pretense or falseness when you were in his company and that itself was a balm in a world where so many expect so much from others. I could be sad without explanation, I could spout my incredulous opinions on anything and I always felt safe. George was a comfort zone, he was a man who offered a camaraderie and sense of peace to any and all who sought his friendship.

George loved to help people. He adored being a counselor at Camp Log and Twig, he aided in projects done by Habitat for Humanity, he promoted equality for all races and rights for women and for those in the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community. He was a champion of the under dogs and a voice for peace and non-violence. He was a voice that was determined to be heard and I weep and rage that his voice was silenced too soon.

George loved his family. Being a parent is one of the most incredibly difficult undertakings anyone can attempt in life. The love he held for Dawn, his beloved sister,  his nieces Chloé and Autumn, his children Kismet, Calliope and Atticus was steadfast and certain. You can see the love and pride George has for them in the photographs that he shared with us all. I pray they never doubt that he cherished them. The greatest love was that between George and Rae for it was a love born from friendship, and though difficulties and challenges made life trying for them their friendship, their bond, their love remained and will live on in their children.

No one is without flaws. And George was not perfect. He struggled with personal demons and was striving to become a better person. He spoke of feeling blessed by the love and support of his family and friends in recent weeks and by all accounts he had found that inner strength to continue on a healthy path. And then a small act of greed and cowardice from a stranger ended his life. The cliché that no one is promised tomorrow echoes through my thoughts. George gave us all a gift when he told us that he felt blessed for he acknowledged the unspoken bonds we all share. I do not question how he felt about me or you because I know, after all he let us know without a doubt. He loved us all.


*In Memoriam AHH, Lord Tennyson


I cannot stop to smell the roses
I see them, in the distance
Any more I keep my eyes cast down
I watch as my feet plod on the worn path below
The yoke feels heavy across my back

Dull pain is a all I feel
So much and so often I am numb

I cannot stop to smell the roses
My day’s work is almost done
I breathe deep and keep my eyes cast down
I feel the weight of the day yoke as it leaves
Replaced by stinging pain

For a few moments I am free
So brief and so fleeting I remain still

I cannot stop to smell the roses
The evening piles on the chores that day forgot
My eyes see only yards of cloth and carpet and floor
I dream at night of far away and the beauty I might see
And as I dream the fragrance of roses surrounds me.



I think that I shall close my eyes and dream of far away,

of mountain tops

and rivers of stars in galaxies far away,

I shall close my eyes and think of you and dream of far away.

As I dream of this distant place where ancient gods like to play

I shall hide among the thorny bushes

in shadows

among the things you cannot see

I shall close my eyes and wish things different tho they will never be.

In this dream of far away there is a chance that I might wake

inside the myth

breaking the dream and bringing it to light

And I find you standing there before me in this place so far away

your hand outstretched

And you say to me, It’s about bloody fucking time you joined me.