A Child Again

The globe is coming 'round to tilt into spring's blossom. Pitch into summer's head-on heat. Winters slanted, retracted cold.
Our lives are in a thousand ways repeatable, never to be duplicated. But, on the general theme of failure and success, of love and loss, on injury and health, all repeatable--if it doesn't end you.

I wish there was a spring for me to be reborn. To spread fresh light tender leaves that shade and nurture the right from the hot regret. But my leaves are in there ways set in a deep green, awaiting the chilled air of early fall. Already, the events that set the green retracting in, leaving vivid reds and oranges, are in motion. Just when I was going to grow another inch, when I was going to fill out this canopy, when I was going to bury my roots deep into the loom. Just when...

It is time. And I could never, will never, come to life again. The snow and ice could break my boughs and the wind could wrench me out the ground. Since this is not a game and I am not a tree the winter is taxing me eminently, inexorability to death. So, this is no time for sorrow or to stagnate. The trees die and rise again. I rise once and die once. This is for real.

101... I don't care, read: I do.

lily white in your eyes
blue with iris on the ground
I have waited too long
and the red is turned to brown

I came back I'm waiting
you chopped the apple orchard down
search the snow in silence
people said just what I've found

shut your shades and hide from me
and I will watch you silently
when you're yearning for my voice
silence stings you without choice

lily white in her eyes
gold hair and she surrounds
all your thoughts of failure
and the fences taken down

I'm singing softly sighing
you dropped the iris to the ground
you choose your female wanting
now your left without my sound

It's been months (contrition)

As per my normal rhythm, I've returned once again with a wholly inadequate post. Inadequate as it tries to summarize the pass three months and all the events and insights and whatever else that occurred in that long interm. It has been a thrilling three months, and I am frustrated with myself (as usual) because I've not been consistant with this blog.

I've been invited to interview at the university of Vermont medical school. I freely admit I did not put my "all" into the application process this year. Subconciously, I think I am content with my situation in San Francisco, and maybe that explains the lack of energy applied to writing essays and sending secondaries out and so forth. I was lucky to receive this interview at UVM and luckier still because Vermont is where I would like to make my home. The Bay has grown near and dear to me in the there-is-so-much-to-see-and-do sort of way, but I need wind and rain and snow and mud and slush and spring and fall and heat and moist air to feel alive. I've thought much about (as much as I think about anything) being in both places someway. But, that is a pipe dream of the most long and narrow kind, its happening so impropable that it is represented by the tinyest point of light who knows how far away.

Tomorrow I go for my interview. I am going to have to answer some rough questions that I've put off thinking. My SSRI can dull the fear of death and failure and public humiliation, but it can not remove it and prevent it from effecting my present. I have avoided the internal dialogue with myself, the self-interview, that one should have if one is to go in front of a complete stranger and convince them of one's resolve and passion.

Why I want to be a doctor

I have habored a fancination of the unknown, especially in the natural world, since childhood. I found an name for the type of person that is constantly turned-on by the stars, plants, animals, forces that pull me, past people, the body, the mind: a scientist. Fortunately, I am not all scientist, for I love art and music and efforts of the soul. As I've been taught, there are one two possible types of people, those who do the sciences and those who toil with the arts. Of course, there is a whole world of people interested in business and ventures with money... but I am not one. I love to teach. I love to learn. I love to feel appriciated. I want dedicate to giving back this world that as given so much to me. Being a doctor means that you may do something different everyday, that your job is never done, that more effort is alway required of you... and all that appeals to me.

Pub-trans-rant

This is my Saturday morning routine. I'm at a cafe called "Bean there" about 2 blocks from my house on Haight st. It is a woody and comforting place with outside seating, taking the form of unstable metal-mesh chairs. I've been doing this for a couple of months now, since I started applying to med school. At this very moment I'm procrastinating.

Yesterday I became a true city dweller. First, I cringed as my boss INSISTED on taking her car out on a little lunch time lab outing. We were headed to the sports basement, you see, over the hill in the Presidio. Not far, could've cabbed it, could've taken public transit, but in the end we took the car. But, not until the parking lot attendants fetched it from stack parking, fifteen cars deep. We when back inside while they did this. An hour later we were able to leave. I just thought it sad that my boss, in this most liberal and environmentally conscious of cities, insisted on taking HER vehicle. When the mention of the bus came up you should've seen her face. It was easier to take the car once we extracted it from the lot, but I guess it is the principle that bothered me.

And again it happened that day. Alina came into town to see a movie called the Short Bus. The Short Bus is a indie unrated movie about love and sex (homosexual and heterosexual) in New York. Normally I would not seek a film like this out, but a subject of mine has a role in the film (I cannot say who). This film is a big deal: reviewed in the NYTimes and playing at the Embarcedaro center (kind of a big deal). In terms of nudity and sexually activity it was somewhere between a gay-porn and a softcore porn; lots of cock, ass, tits and dildos. Anyhow... It was thrilling to see a person that I had interacted with, even connected with, up there on the big-screen! I truly feel like a big city dweller.

Getting to the theater was a fucking migraine. First off, Alina brought a friend, and her friend brought a map. I should also mention I was back in a car for the second time that day. The original plan was to take the MUNI (the light rail that runs along the street and under Market St). It would've spat us out fairly close to the Embarcadero center. Alina arrived late after picking her friend up in approximately the same part of town as the theater. Her friend apparently is not unlike my boss in that she thinks of the public transit system as being too convolute and curious to navigate. We made it in plenty of time, but again, it was very unnecessary to employ our own vehicle.

At -any-rate, I enjoyed the movie immensely. It was easily the most compelling, beautiful, provocative and uplifting movie I've seen all year. I love this place for all its solitary offerings, cause I am very much still alone. It's okay.

a poem about Twins

a poem about Twins

We know what happened to you
scientifically:
When you were a couple of days,
when you were as close as you never will be again,
you were one.

Then fate struck a slicing strike; you became two.
For 9 months you and you shared the warmth of mother, and, probably,
already becoming you and you in that time. Distinct and separate.
Hearts not synced with mother's or each other's.
Both aware, perhaps, of each other: sharing, maybe
a uterine embrace.

Then, in the years after birth, you and you would play different games, speak different words.
You and You would feel different amounts of pain and shame and regret.
You and You would love in your on ways, feeling separate rays of the sun, seeing the maples don fall-fire leaves on distinct trees.

Who knows what the twin feels? Maybe what is hot to you is cold to you, an maybe blue is some hue you see in a different view.

But, only you and you can be more sure you know all the many-fold differences between the two. The world may gloss over in its crude march, for the details are lost in the day.
At the end of it, at least, you will know you.

Needle Exchange [10/01/06]

Not really much to report:

We need a diagram and rating of the best areas to inject IV drugs.

I volunteer with a really cute Berkley student, Julie.

Ascorbic acid-> break crack down to inject.

People hit arteries. You think people care about living or dying with an addiction like that?

I walked away from needle exchange with a bit of doubt about how much of a difference I could possibly be making.
Then I realized that for every junky (tweeker) that comes in and gets a free needles and never returns them, there is a more responsible amount of drug use out on the streets. People are using the clean needles if they are present and accessible. The less disease the better, that is the rule. HIV and HEP C can be easily transmitted between classes. It doesn't care about your assets. It just needs a warm body.


Hmm....

All in all, and at the end of the day, I'm a country boy. Though I do like me some city from time to time.

Needle Exchange [09/24/06]

Notes:

Sex workers prefer black condoms because they can have sex on their period and the client will not notice.

If you put baby powder on your hand and bitch slap someone it does not leave a hand print on their face.

If you ask a drug addict how they are, they will usually say "I'm doin' alright".

If you smile at them, they smile back.

They often times thank you. They sometimes say, "Bless you."

The average age of the people using the needle exchange this week is 45.

The hole in the woods

During the summer after high school, after Sara and I parted, I began to dig a hole in the woods. I took a spade from the garage and made my way across the back lawn, trudged through a small patch of marsh behind our pool, and climbed into the woods. There was a huge white pine back about 200 yards. It was a hydra of a tree, with a single enormous trunk and three smaller, but substantial, necks that rose up about 200 ft. From the back deck you could see this monster rising alone, liberated from the canopy. I started digging at the base of this tree.

The forest floor was covered in a amber pad of pine needles. The Maine woods always smelled so sweet. I positioned the spade and rested a foot on the collar, gripping the old wood handle. Slowy, deliberately I pushed down with my foot and watched the needles pitch up on end and follow the advancing spade into the dark earth; a hundred long doomed ships. Pulling back on the handle, I raised a pyramid of solid black soil, full of unruly roots and twigs jutting from its sides, and tossed it to the side. I repeated this, all the time thinking. There was an desperate urgency in the pace I dug at and in the act itself. I dug as if there was a goal, a purpose, a point at which I could stop and say "I've done it. I'm done". I dug until I was sore, until my eyes were level with the forest floor. I unearthed roots as thick as my arms. The network of them twisted about me, hanging up my shovel and frustrating me. I dug until it began to rain and thunder cracked around me. I stopped and crouched, my back resting on the earthy wall of my hole. The hydra loomed above me, watching me with knots that appeared to be curious eyes, in the low gray light of that stormy afternoon.

Why did I do this? When I am faced with the reality of my failures I attempt to mask it and patch it with a spurt of glorious accomplishment. In the oppressive rural setting I was in, this was the best "accomplishment" I could think of. A hole; movement of earth; making a scar on in the floor. I was not destructive, nor was it constructive, it was simply an expenditure of energy that had been long-stored in my constant failure. The crumbling relationship with a girl I loved (my first love), the absolute squandering of my time in high school, all this would have required energy to maintain and make right. But that was over now. The chance to release my energy in a constructive and controlled manner was gone. Now the only thing I could do was dig a hole. Convert my regret and do something futile.

Coffee and Contacts in the Evening

Are you listening?

I'm still running away

I wont play your hide-and-seek game

the sweetness will not be concerned with me.

I got a secondary from BU and the doubt rolled in with the fog.

At least that is how I woke up. I was in a really sour mood this morning. It was due to wracking my brain on what sort of narrative I will give as my secondary essay.

I am not consistent with what I want to do. I've never quite learned to do this: have habits that I deem cool and worthy. Like this one. Will this make me a bad doctor? No. In fact, a lot of being a doctor--as far as I've noticed--is dealing with the novelty of each person and their particular state. But that is not to say that being consistent with documentation of my thoughts would be amiss or useless.

Life in SF is always interesting. I've adapted nicely, I think... Although, I've not figured out the social scene here just yet. There are several young ladies that I've had a good time with (not like that). But, I takes initiative to date here, and money, and I barely have either. I've lost all interest cause I'm to busy comparing these merge lusts to the greater ills of the world. I guest it is also because I've lost a little faith in things.

I was talking to someone, who specifically I can not remember, and this fact will buttress the statement he made...

"Yeah, cities are hard [places to meet people]. You've got a million people all ignoring each other."

This is so true, to the point where I will not ever forget the statement. Sadly, the person who uttered those words has passed into the social fog, like most of those I meet.

I wont ever be as alone as I am here, nor will I ever live amongst so many.

Last night.

I've GOT to stop doing stupid shit when I drink.

I was out downtown, a long way from home. 2nd & Bryant I think it was, at the Nova bar. I went to go see Lil Lau, a friend of a friend, spin. She is great, a fun DJ, and I suspect, a creative one. This venue, she was not given the chance. One of her other friends, Carrie, is a beautiful LA native, and who is jewish. She is well out of my league.

There is something about her. I guess I'll find out.

Tales from the Syringe Exchange

"My parents would never understand this."

I've got this really bad habit of baring myself early. And the very cute but potentially hostile lesbian, Feminist studies intern didn't look scares me. I am the minority there. The staff are women or transgender man-women or guys who are not white. I'm the reviled, clean cut, unblemished, untarnished child of a society that has always cradled my kind: white men. But David likes me.

I'm at the needle exchange for my first time without Shelly. Earlier today I arrived for training. David, the health educator and Syringe exchange big-man, sat down with me in his open office on the second floor of the Tenderloin AIDS Resource Center to guide me through the training. The training came in Power-point pill form, a wave of comfortability washed over me. I had only attend several hundred hours of PP lectures since graduating high school. As we started, I began wondering about David.

Who was this person. David is a latino, light skinned, with big brilliant, hazel eyes. He wears a mustache-goatee combo and slicks his hair back, but the product is matte and his hair is without sheen. He wears baggy clothing: tee shirt and jeans. In his left ear he has a single earring; the letters SF in gold. It is his eyes that give him away. If you gouged out his eyes he'd be a very formidable and intimidating character. But his large eyes transmit compassion that is enforced by his choice of lifestyle and employment. David speaks slowly and deliberately, especially when explaining something. Expletives are threaded throughout his normal speech, even as he instructed me now with other office workers present. His normal way of speech has a urban cadence, he casually adds the word "hella" in as an adjective, its kin being "wicked". All that is description fodder because what matters is the content of his mind is good and clear and the profundity of his actions.

This is my sister

This is my sister...

the woman with two children.

"Quiet. I want to sit and listen to the rain. Stillness and stationary. No more voices; know more peace.

Where I live now, it's not hard to get depressed and anxious. Last two mornings at 5:00am, I've been out taking pictures of the sunrise. Seen an old man picking in the dumpsters. It should have broken my heart... only now with the rain falling I cry for him, because in this place you can't cry. I have grown wary and doubtful. Mine eyes deceive me. Should I remove Thee, offenders to my senses?

I went to see doctors, they give you pills; numbs the pain of being lost, feeling lost, and seeing the lost. But you just store it until you can tap into it. Have one or two or six drinks, it will find you. It will sneak up until you are bare bones exposed; brains and heart splayed for all; like a jump from a twenty story building.

Alcohol is not used to grow closer in the traditional sense, it's used for sex and forgetting, not sharing and being open.What happen to sharing around a fire and sweating in a tent ? Not only for the men.

What happen to running in the rain? Being free. Being sexy free and unafriad of looking at people in the eye?Now only: fearing the passing of one more judgment based upon a five second interaction. A look and a brush off. Fuck you, you don't know me.

That is not me. Years ago I would have not been so bitter. I thought that I had a chance of escaping... I've seen too many dragged down. No happy endings. I cry for them, I cry for me. I cry for my children who take my stress and outbursts and will form from it's aftermath a hate for me that is so strong it will make them afraid to be real with me later in their lives.

I keep reaching out but all I get is water on my palm.

I want to stand out in the rain and let it hide my tears and wash away the false. I don't think anyone here would understand.

Want if all at once everyone stopped what they were doing and went and stood in the rain?

Would we all realize how much we all need to be seen crying? To have someone ask after us and our children?

Or would we find out that upon being all together we would have less to cry about? "

Always have hope.

If you let the world turn one more time
my feet will go wheeling under me
the milestones will crack and turn over
you'll be excited next to me

if you let a hand sweep through
I suppose we'll make due
with the time I waste in haste
in truth, I want to know you

If you let the moon come up
and the light is pale
the skin I seek with a mind in bright
soft luna and temperate cover'd night

If you freeze the rain to white
with a fire to fight off night
with a warm engulf we share
this is new to you?

What could you want with me?
I guess I'll see, I guess I'll see.

Something is not right.

My last post did not sufficiently capture what I've been thinking this past weeks. I think it is coming to a head tonight because I am listening to a song that the Grant sisters put on my birthday mix. The song is doing something to me needed to be done.

The truth is I don't understand the world. I don't understand death, entropy or hate. To day was spent mostly inside trying to write up some cohesive, comprehensible personal statement for medical school. Look past all my hate, blemishes and my death to what I can be. That, I think, I should repeat, slowly and clearly, to myself.

This song is changing my brain. It is churning up the still light mud that is bound to cloud the water upon disturbance. I don't care if I make sense anymore. I'm sick of pretending that I have to make sense cause everyone thinks everything should make sense, when nothing makes sense.

I'm sick of mass killings, present and past. Entire legions of soldiers dying, entire groups of people starving, migrations of people that end in doom. I sick of classes and corruption and the splitting angry bastards. They should all blow blood vessels.

"The out-of-jointness of the universe."

The more I am around the homeless and addicted, the more I watch people suffer, the more I don't understand.

And am I going to die at the hands of an oppressor or someone who is invested in the status quo. I think so.

Cause the universe just does not make sense, and I've never felt like my spirit belongs. I realized this very young and I would discuss it in my youth with friends when our minds were fresh as beach sand, ripe to have a sand-piper of ponderance leave tracks. But that has been washed by the tides of time.

What hope can I find. In the moment? I don't want to regret those days or waste my time. I have precious little time here, and though I feel like I don't belong, I know only this. I know only unimaginable suffering as they are conveyed by words and images.

One thing is sure: I'm not losing this state of mind. I thought I had, but I'm sure it is back. I'm glad, cause I can realize how lucky I am.

Something is just not right

"I don't want to live here anymore."

"Oh, you regret the move you made?"

"No, I don't want to live here, now, anymore."

"What other choise do you have?"

"I've been reading about Themepolae."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Defeat of the Spartan legions at Thermopylae. They were out numbered 10 to 1 by the invading Persian army."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"The odds seem so much better. Their enemies had eyes. You could look into there eyes."

"Again, what are you talking about?"

"They fought to the last man. That was their law. They use to say learning comes only through suffering. I'm starting to thing I've stopped learning."

"Maybe you should start taking the whole pill instead of half. Think that would help?"

"I think my enemy needs a face. I would happily follow the law to the last." 

Done

Download and listen.

What is the meaning of this?
somehow we crossed, our ways

[low]
you were raised on the grain, of plains
show me, oh show me the waves

gonna be a long time
till I find

oh the meaning of this...

Can I have one more day
with you
and maybe we two
we can grapple with perfection

tried to say, in my way
there's no one like you

I'll come to m
can you hurry if I asked you to

maybe in a long time
maybe in a long time
maybe in a long time we will find

Miss River

What is the meaning of this?
somehow we crossed, our ways

[low]
you were raised on the grain of plains
show me, oh show me the way

It's gonna be a long time
till I find

oh the meaning of this
this encounter, strange.

rough but a beginning

The elder sister

I was fresh in my homesick
when you arrived that evening
your sister's smile, familiar
your shapely graceful demeanor

silver and hemp
were you ornaments
joy and vitality
your adornments
on me

you've claimed me with your touch
struck me right with a smile
as we shared childhood gems
the quick moving fog
rolled in.

creased: the dress you wore on your form
you did not care, you cast that aside
it fell over your frame
the sun blushing your shoulders
and I'll never be the same

and I told you so...

that night, doing maybe again
what you do to many
to me for I was there alone
but I kissed you, though in fearing:
you are flavored-minded, seasoned
particular in taste, would protest
You didn't

pleasure is the mode
and that I longed to elicit
your sighs of release
and the other signs
the smooth sheen of skin
all on your side, I worshiped you.
I don't mind.

all the moments in a handful of days
stirred my dormant heart
so I admitted to you, while we lay
"I've not met the likes of you"
your form, your presence, your gravity

but I have a feeling you, in your way
meet men like me
every-
day

A new twist on an old favorite.

I found this pasted into some self-obsessed girl's myspace (Melissa Sumitra Royblog. Wow, shit. I couldn't resist.

THIS IS TO ALL MY GIRLS:

You need to find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot.

( What you need is a guy with a more diverse lexicon; "I want to fuck your ass.", would be replaced by the more diplomatic "Let's make love a 'new' way.", and so on...)

Who calls you back when you hang up on him.

(I.e. someone who puts up with you being a cunt.)

Who will stay awake just to watch you sleep.

(Say, a male, with no job, and an addiction to methamphetamines. Specify also if he should be in the same room, cause I'm sure there are plenty of guys watching you sleep/undress with high-powered lenses from across the street.)

Wait for the guy who kisses your forehead.

(Oh, the one who is supremely condescending. What if he does this while telling you, even though he came home smelling of alcohol and 'another women', that you are over-reacting and you should just put down the paring knife)

Who wants to show you off to the world when you are in your sweats.

(That is, your assless sweats, or the ones that cost him a truck load of cash.)

Who holds your hand in front of his friends.

(To drag you away from your friends when you become drunk and verbally abusive.)

Wait for the one who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares about you and how lucky he is to have you.

(I.e. the one you would never want because that kind of admiration makes you want to vomit. Wait, great way to lose weight, maybe you do want him.)

Wait for the one who turns to his friends and says, "...that's her."

("That's the one who lets me call her a whore in bed. I'm so proud.")

other Ocean

I come at the strangest of times
to commune with you, Ocean. 
You are not the sea near my birthplace, 
near wear my sister raises her youngesters.
But you know her because you are sister seas, you with all others, are one. One with the water in the sky and even that which is trapped in the land.  I come to commune with you because I need not ask questionsof you. I need not ponder you, explain you; I don't require great deeds of you. Yourself, you hate me not, nor do you love me or favor me. There is no guilt in your voice, no pain in your song, no joy in the saline breeze. 

I commune with you because I love you. You say what I long to here, what my mind needs to know: Ssshhhhh.....ssshhh

Cranberries

Oh, my life is changing ev'ryday

In ev'ry possible way.

And oh, my dreams,

It's never quiet as it seems,

Never quiet as it seems.

Note

I'm not a creator, though I would like to be.

I am a bystander. 

remember this second, flood the feeling of Sun

I've got great news...

I sat and thought. I'm inside on a sunny day and I'm okay.

Realizing, as I was sitting here, that I never had a chance.

That my regret is all about nothing, and all I've been trying to make right

is gone.

Happy... i've not been this happy in so long.

In Love with Love

ME

Candle

The candle needs a shade
to light the way

trials and trails and roots in the way
it needs the shade.

to throw the light
in a helpful way

the light in the eyes and the praise still comes
the outline of arteries and veins
like the roots in the way

look left and right
and try to look down
there is a blanket on the ground

it's dull and orange and smells of pine
covers the natives and the poor
lime and bone, moss and snow

Light another candle, cause the way is lost
but the shade is all that's needed

the roots are so thick
and rise like bridge which under
feet are lodged

the candles falls out and down
catches fire to the ground

catches fire all around...

My sister

If I was never here, what if?

and my foundation is dirt and dank.

I remember so little, sister. 

Did you go to prom, did anyone take pictures?
Are they fading in the ground?

Did anyone ever tell you that you are beautiful?
Did anyone tell you that you are loved?

You are so easy to cut to the core, so easily ignored. So easily dismissed and disgraced. But you will always have grace, through my eyes. 

I've never told you. I should've told you. 

I'm sorry. 

Every Life.

Every life is beautiful.
Every life is tragic.

Your life is a beauty.
Your life is a tragedy.

What are you so happy about?
What are you complaining about?

You've not heard a word I've said. 

My eyes...

This is what i've learnt

1) don't expect the wound to miss the knife. 
2) loneliness is a drill.
3) the mind is a holding tank. sometimes needs patching, sometimes becomes full, often time empty.
4) loneliness is a sharp drill
5) the tank's sides are weak
6) you can't look at the content all at once. 
          or you'll drown by the sight of it. 

As an act of contrition, this posted was edited.

Enjoy the Spring.

I like this song

The days go on, the lights go off and on
And nothing really matters when you're gone
If you think that you feel nothing at all
If you don't (If you don't)
Then you don't (No, you won't)
If you won't
Then you won't
And I will
Then I will

Dreams.

Maybe God thought I was having a shortage of regret in the waking hours so he gave me an ENTIRE night filled with dreams on the subject. 

The first dream involved no regret, but did involve 3 of 4 of my new roommates. I don't remember much from the dream accept one of my roommates was doubled... The scene just before I awoke was particularlly distrubing. She had come in from outside with acute hypothermia. We are talking dream over-rought acute; her back was frozen about the ribs. I remember picking her off the couch, stepping forward with her, then ploughing into the  coffee table, dropping her in slow motion. In my dream one of my roommates screams "MAAAAAAAAAATTTTT....". As I woke the Ts blended with the hissing sound of a city bus going by on the street. For a moment they were one in the same sound. Severely unsettling. 

So I saw that film last night. Without going into a huge description/review, it was about this period in famous film-maker Cazeh Zehedi's (make "A Waking Life") life when he was habitually sexing(ha) prostitutes while in relationships.

Some of the things he would say to his significant others to justify his desires, needs were distinctly familiar. I became somewhat nervous during the movie--well, I had to pee throughout the entire thing.

My other dream was entirely a scenario of recognition that I had behaved much like Cazeh with respect to my relationship with Samantha. I'm not going to go into much detail. But I do want to mention that this one scene

It's more about

I just saw an independent film at the Balboa Theater called "I am a sex addict" by the guy who directed "A waking life"

Really, really funny, artful and, in the end, touching. 

I'm glad to see people with vices who aren't ashamed to document them. It is difficult; you can take it to the grave.  

I wrote this at the beach on 4/20/06:

When I was young I faced east
when the sun was low it rose
rose above the Atlantic
and all the submerged histories
I knew nothing of

Now,here

The sun is low in the west, sinking
into the Pacific, or a slight sooner,
clouds make the western wall
The sun, in its ancient rung, has climbed from my birthplace
The place my parents
dipped my timid toes in the Icy brine
for the first time.

It's more about a life of first times, changes and impressions.
It's more about saying what you mean if you mean it
showing all your skin to the ones you want to keep
and loving completely the ones in your skin

It's more about living life,
than life.

California Girl

I met this girl last night.

She is from a town near Eureka (Nor Cal).

She is beautiful. Her eyes are brown, her smile is unforgettable. She has two tattoos, one of a lion on her lower back and a jasmine flower on her left hip. She is a Leo, born August 5. 

I am supposed to call her this week, maybe hang out. 

At the end of the night, as she was getting into the cab, she kissed me on the lips, not the cheek, but the lips. 

I hope I get to know her, and if she ever reads this, then she'll know I was thinking about her all day. 

check it out.

The priming

I guess I'm the same everywhere

There is something familiar about this place,

when I close my eyes...

I could be anywhere, but I'm the same.

Location does not change me. The miles have not morphed me,

into a world weary sun, the son is the same and the days are mostly August dust.

And though I trace long lines across the place, and I the mountains become plains

I'm feeling very much the same.

Judging the past and predicting the future, as if I've been there before. Cause, honestly, this is feeling like the past, therefore the future will feel like... So I know what's in store.

The end is somewhere in there too. So maybe I should do more, be more, love more, talk more, think more, write more, appreciate more, fix more, see more, and run more many many miles. Maybe I'll feel different, and not be the same, or accept my "same" or something, before I go.

Maybe I'll create something to leave behind, cause where I'm going I cannot return. And it is sad, cause I don't think I'll see you there--I hardly knew you in life. But maybe when I travel the distance that has no measure, we can sit and talk?

Cause I am what you'll leave behind. And maybe we just sleep. Then I'll never know. Never change. Be the same while I sleep forever.

Maybe I we should sit near the lake and talk in the sun soon. Cause your head is silver, life is making your heart tired. You can only expect it to toil for so long.

Toil on.

And I'll be here, far away. The same.

The wood work

How beautiful can God make that molding?
and thread the waves in the grain
a beautiful sacrifice of sweet smelling wood
with an axe you've met an end
with me, begun again


if you'll let me, I'd plane my hands over you
over every space
I'd memorized the knots and shimmering lines
the turning streams of texture
follow them with my fingers.

i'm watching the woodwork
I hope you come out
What can I do
What can i do
please come out

And again.

See below....

Real forgiveness

How can I make this real for you.

I am outta sight and certainly out of state,

but still...

this exploration is delving deep into a jungle

I can not tame, I can not blame....

for my heart is hearing the rest of your wailings...
the great love assailing you.

holding on... I'm holding on... to the Pine trees, to the dead leaves, to the sweet breeze...

over my skin

and this urban organ is warning me to recede and take back the love I've been ready for... oh I'm ready for it, oh you YOU come and get it, on we will not set it a top any mantel, it will be our stand 'till the motions be still...

Seriously?

I should not write when I'm drunk.

blank = white

Never never never
did I think I would be here

painting pictures for the blind
for the rest that try to see
the salt, the sting
you've got that thing that I can't have
the forever-sadness

I'm going to illustrate you a scene
in which I've been
sunny all my days
back when the ways of the world
would let you seep into my girl

When I was not looking
Birches grew from my head
bone blanched and red dead.

And in the center I've exploded again.
Just fifteen seconds to say goodbye.
a moment only to pity and cry.
Squandered as such
deserving to die.

What i learned today: that there is truth in thought.
That we are gifted this mind, and though we have little control over its wanderings,
it can set us so unbalanced and apart from the soil, that we merely forget the love.

love involved in ...

The title

The title of my blog is misleading. I'm assuming if you check this then you'll want to know what is happening in my life. Truth be told, I'm hardly writing in this thing anymore because if I did write about all my events, feelings, whatever, I would be at it all day. So why don't you write about the important stuff? Well, I can't. I've got no filter. I can't prioritize. That shit's hard!

Cop-out.

But, hey, you wanted to know? There you go.

I feel like writing a poem. On Craig's list they have poems written by desperate people. They are about real pain and, as kind of a twisted perversion of emotion, are heartbreakingly bad.

But hey... At least they are having interactions with people that are breaking their hearts. Good for them. I'm content to stare at the ground and pretend I'm to good for human interaction. Not like I'm craving it or anything. (Dripping with sarcasm...obviously)

"I love the sound of tires running along wet pavement.". she said with her head on his chest.

She had been lying there, one ear to his breath, the other--ignoring the TV's droning voices-- focused on sound of pavement's moistness.

"Hmm? Ah... yeah, me too."

"Really? When I was young...", but was ssshhed before she was through.

In the beginning his eyes were bright, his smile wide and sincere. Now...

Now it's time to sever
all the many years we walked together,
all the sunsets dipped in heather,
all the star fields foraged through,
all the times I confided in you,
all the mornings in our bed,
the sun golden guilded our heads.

The sound of wet tires washed me through,
and now I will be done with you...

She raised herself up off him
smiled and said,

"I'm getting a sandwich. You want another beer?"

Morphine

I've not written in a while. So much as happened. I went back to Vermont for the Top Cat's 25th anniversary show. Everyone I love was there, with the exception of a very few individuals (my brothers, Talia, etc.). It was euphoria after weeks of being alone--for the most part--in San Francisco.

Anna was at the after party. Figured out what kind of individual she is, glad thats done with minimal damage to me. Acting, I suppose that was it. If she was genuinely dramatic with me it would be on thing, but I always felt an artificial quality to her.

Emily was no where to be found. I was suppose to call her Friday night... I don't know. Eventually--hours before I was to leave--we met for coffee at Uncommon Grounds. Things will never be the same between Emily and I; just one of those relationships that I destroyed. Another person that is so unique that I will never meet another that could even remind me of them.

Missing people, I am. For some reason it is never as intense as I feel it should be.

I will have moments of intense emotion: I'll be so sad, tears will form and line the bottom of my eyes, and then it will be gone. And it will be for some really small reason, like a fluttering moment. When I was a teenager I use to miss people so severely, I remember longing for people so clearly. Not anymore. Maybe I've seen too much, become too hard, met to many people... maybe I'm just surviving.

On this day I had an experience like none before. It is almost scary how well I know myself, how well I know what I will like and dislike. Maybe I understand my destiny better than most people.

We are running a study at the PCRC (pain clinical research center, where I work). Without going into too much detail, we dose people with placebo or Morphine, and then we test there reactions to Hot Pain. It is extremely interesting work. There are risks to taking Morphine, however.

A really nice, intelligent guy enrolled in the study. He was a pleasure to talk to, and so we chatted back and forth in the small exam room in which our studies are run. The first injection went fine. The side effects were bearable,--so he said-- spacy, light-headed, dry mouth, sleepy.

The second injection was a vastly different story. About an hour after the dose, during one of the tests, the Morphine hit him like truck. Within 10 seconds he went from sleepy, to nauseous, to vomiting on himself and passing out. Scott, the study Doc and I heaved him onto a gurney; he immediately came to. I had reflexively elevated his legs and now he stared up at me in amazement. Clearly, he was astonished to be lying supine and have someone, who just a moment ago was running a test, now holding his legs up. As for me, I was shaking. I was scared, but another part of me knew that in this moment I had experienced an event that had been previously missing from me. It has physically become a part of me, the moment. The instant when I was lifting this person--helpless and limp-- to the gurney, the decision to rush to his legs and lift them, watching him come to and look up at me for explanation, me reassuringly patting his calf repeating,"It's alright. You're alright. You're fine.", all this is now in me.

This event has it's costs, of course. I feel guilty for learning through suffering, particularly when it is someone else's. The Greeks had this underlying lesson in their Mythologies: "Mathos Pathos", that is, learning through suffering. I suppose it is another of the harsh realities of a life in medicine that I am just not accustom to.

I'm going to start a new blog to track my experience in the PCRC (pain clinical research center). check it out.

Morphine

I've not written in a while. So much as happened. I went back to Vermont for the Top Cat's 25th Anniversary show. Everyone I love was there, with the exception of a very few individuals (my sibs, Talia, etc.) It was euphoria after weeks of being alone--for the most part--in San Francisco.

Anna was at the after party. Figured out what kind of individual she is, glad thats done with minimal damage to me. Acting: I suppose that was it. If she was genuinely dramatic with me it would be on thing, but I always felt an artificial quality to her.

Emily was no where to be found. I was suppose to call her Friday night... I don't know. Eventually--hours before I was to leave--we met for coffee and uncommon grounds. Things will never be the same between Emily and I; just one of those relationships that I destroyed. Another person that is so unique that I will never meet another that could even remind me.

Missing people, I am. For some reason it is never as intense as I should be.

I will have moments of intense emotional: I'll be so sad, tears will form and line the bottom of my eyes, and then it will be gone. When I was a teenager I use to miss people so severely, I remember longing for people so clearly. Not anymore. Maybe I've seen too much, become too hard... maybe I'm just surviving.

On this day I had an experience like none before. It is almost scary how well I know myself, how well I know what I will like and dislike. Maybe I understand my destiny better than most people.

We are running a study at the PCRC (pain clinical research center, where I work). Without going into too much detail, we dose people with placebo or Morphine, and then we test there reactions to Hot Pain. It is extremely interesting work. There are risks to taking Morphine, however.

A really nice, intelligent guy came in to be a subject to the study. He was a pleasure to talk to, and so we chatted back and forth in the small exam room in which our studies are run. The first injection went fine. The side effects were bearable, so he said: spacy, light-headed, dry mouth, sleepy.

The second injection was a vastly different story. About an hour after the dose, during one of the tests, the Morphine hit him like truck. Within 10 seconds her went from sleepy, to nauseous, to vomiting on himself and passing out. Scott, the study Doc and I heaved him onto a gurney; he immediately came to. I had reflexively elevated he legs and now he stared up at me in amazement. Clearly, he was astonished to be lying supine and have someone, who just a moment ago was running a test, now holding his legs up. As for me, I was shaking. I was scared, but another part of me knew that in this moment I had experienced an event that had been previously missing from me. It has physically become a part of me, the moment. The instant of lifting this person--helpless and limp-- to the gurney, the decision to rush to his legs and lift them, watching him come to and look up at me for explanation, me reassuringly patting his calf repeating,"It's alright. You're alright. You're fine.", all this is now in me.

This event has it's costs, of course. I feel guilty for learning through suffering, particularly when it is someone else's. The Greeks had this underlying lesson in their Mythologies: "Mathos Pathos", that is, learning through suffering. I suppose it is another of the harsh realities of a life in medicine that I am just not accustom to.

I'm going to start a new blog to track my experience in the PCRC (pain clinical research center). check it out.

.

"Another thing I do so rarely is write about OTHER PEOPLE. What a prick! I miss a certain someone, and that is terrible. I wish she knew how I look back on our time together, so much of it was spend in doubt and fear. It's funny, a big part of me wants her here with me. It is strange I feel this way now. Maybe better too. I've learnt to appreciate her at last.

For now though, I'm more than content to be me, to be here now; to be all at once scared and excited, lost and found, changed and, really, very much the same." 01/25/06

I pretty sure I've been lied to, and I'm pretty sure I've had it coming. Starting a new life out here, I've not been completely Isolated--thank god--from happenings back home. I'm happy to be verbally privy to the rumors floating around Burlington: gives me something to laugh about while on the bus. But, this one rumor I can't shake. Maybe cause it affects me and being the selfish asshole that I am, I'm more worried about it. Talked to Emily last night. It was one of the most uplifting conversations I've had. Ever. Here is an individual that I have dragged through a mental hell. She stuck with me every step of the way. She was there when i didn't get into Teach For America, when my anxiety cropped up soon after, there when it lasted the entire summer. She listened to my every perceived neurosis, my every theory of demise, my every though of an abrupt end. She was there to nurture my musical tastes when all I could do is stagnate. Her repayment was bitter... more of a punishment.

There is redemption on Earth, for those who seek it out. There is forgiveness that is not dealt from god nor government. These things you've taught me. There is more to do. There is always more to do.



Now that I've had my dose I can start.


Today, Sunday, I met a potential roommate in a great flat, wandered around a near by park (the Presidio, or at least a part of it) and walked a great deal of the city.

I would love to write that kinda entries that inspire vivid visualization of the people and places I've met and seen. But I just can't. I'm in sensory overload. It gets to the point where I can describe every sense of every moment right now. I can write all that down. Thats the most huge literary copout ever.... I'm glad I thought of it.

So I met a really interesting girl name Karin (thats Karen to us east-coasters) who is renting a room near my work. It is a really nice place, sunny, capacious, tons of potential for me to apply my character. And a nice kitchen. She seemed surprised to see me when she met me downstairs at the front door. She looked deep into my eyes, to the point where I had to avert my gaze. All I can really remember about her eyes was the color. They seemed dark, but had a ring of light pigment maybe blue or yellow, I couldn't look for very long. I don't believe I think she is beautiful. I am just not use to being affected by someone's gaze like that. She offered me tea and we talked about the prospect of being roommates; talked about our pasts and our travels. To my surprise, I find myself meeting many people who've not been to the East Coast out here. I have to remind myself that this is very normal: I myself had not been to the west coast until Nikki invited me to San Diego to stay with her family for a week in late summer 2004. It was my first and only trip to Mexico, thus far.

Tomorrow I see two more rooms, both of which I am excited about. One is in the Sunset, the other in the Hayes Valley--near where I am now. The latter room is in a Victorian on Haight street, kinda in the getto. It's cool though, I walk through that neighborhood at all hours. Interestingly enough, it is mostly drunk white kids out after 12am in the Hayes valley-- apparently all the IV drug users have early bedtimes? Could BE!! And--just as an aside-- I saw a pimp today on that street. He was one of the coolest people I've laid eyes on. Picture this: a black man, height of six feet, dressed in the most luxurious of white fur coats (full length, of course). Underneath this monument to dead Arctic foxes was a three piece electric-blue suit-- in his hand he clutched a matching cane, which he clearly didn't need to walk,but--G'DAMn!--did it make him look, well, pimptastic. Just to complete the mental picture for all of you and to solidify the "pimp" stereotype, a top his bitch-slappin' head he wore-you guessed it-- a matching white fur hat, the kind with a circular brim. It was a thing of singular beauty.

oh yes... a WAR of poems

evilnelsontwin: matthew and the nelson twins sure do fit
evilnelsontwin: i tried to give him handesome creme but he didnt need it
evilnelsontwin: hes coming back in a week and we sure are happy
evilnelsontwin: i know when my mom hears him sing she might get sappy
evilnelsontwin: he lives so far away and it sure is sad
evilnelsontwin: she when he comes back if he doesnt get ass that definitely will be bad
evilnelsontwin: in the meantime sarah and i will love you just the same
evilnelsontwin: but at the afterparty, we will keep our distance because youll be on your game
evilnelsontwin: the end

Maybe it's better this way

Thats okay, thats okay.

Like a cloud in the sky looking like a mountain-side
I could never really climb.

s'alright, s'alright.

It's much better this way.
Thoughts of the finale are finally fading from fear.
And I find myself laughing after all these years.

it's fine, it's fine

but I can not abide.
run my hands on marble.
snag my flesh on a nail.
Cold white with red warm brush.

And maybe it's better this way.
Cause all I can do is laugh.
I keep staring at the white marble.
the old streaks, the new one.
All I do is laugh.

N Judah

"Why San Francisco?" - Everyone.

I am not normal. Things that are obvious to the rest of the human race, are not obvious to me at all, or things will become obvious much later than they should. The question above is not one I asked myself with complete seriousness and thoroughness.

For the first time in my life I am outside of New England without close friends or family. I am alone almost everywhere I go. This last Sunday I took the N-Judah (a cable car) down to Ocean Beach. When I was looking for apartments while back in Vermont, I saw this line referenced many times as I was seeking out a place in that area. I was riding the N train on this beautiful morning, watching block after block slip pass. Occasionally, I saw the green tops of trees in golden gate park, which runs about two blocks to the North and parallel to the N line. Young individuals got on and off, then it families came aboard as we reached the more residential Outer Sunset neighborhood. Parents and the type of kids that are "from" a city, not from a suburb. This would be the place that they depart from when they decide they've been too long, when they've seen all there is to see, done all there is to do.

48th street...My stop

The train loops back on itself here and becomes in-bound. I was amazed at how close I was to the beach just stepping off the train, probably because I didn't do any sort of distant calculation with a map or otherwise.

And as sudden as stepping of a plane, I was at a most picturesque beach with fine, brown sand and large green waves breaking into white foam that chased back the lands.

I want to live here.

Lovely

sarahmary86: ok im going to sign of with a haiku
sarahmary86: are you ready?
sarahmary86: matt is my husband
sarahmary86: me and melinda heart you
sarahmary86: you are lovely
sarahmary86: the end
sarahmary86: by sarah m. nelson

Valentine

Happy Valentine's day

white snow

There is something that says "Valentine's Day" in your face.
The blush of your cheeks, the red of your lips.
the white and delicate red hues.
But I can't be with you.


I saw the moon hanging over the city.
And I saw you standing in the snow.
With the light pouring down.
And your mittens in my hands.

I found a sad song to hang my soul on.
Tonight I'm thinking of you.
In a low simple voice.
And I'm realizing, it is much more than snow.

But I'm the person who needs to cut to feel.
And needs to go, so I might return.
And needs wander the desert,
Before I can drink of the spring.

Red and white is what you want.
And love is the taste you seek.

And when I return I can spread over you.
Making angels in the snow.
And praying,
I never let this Valentine go.

Where did I go wrong? Did I go wrong?

Since I'm alone, I can finally sit and think. I've got no other choice.

I'm trying to figure out why I am the way I am, and why I hate this state of personality.
I've been thinking a lot about failure and how terrified I am of it. My fear comes from all the experiences I had
when I was a kid--all my experiences in school. Sitting here my tasks has been to write a personal statement on why I want to be a physician and why I would make a good one. It has turned into a quest for answers. I wrote the following paragraph as an introduction:

If someone approached me when I was sixteen and said, “You are going to not only go to college, but aspire to be a doctor”, I would have probably dismissed their claim as foolish and highly unlikely. This envoy could have found me in Greene, Maine, at my normal haunt: a set of tracks that looked out over a hay field. Growing up in a small, rural town like Greene stifled certain possibilities for the future in my mind. Moreover, I was never that good at looking ahead. Since an early age, school was a task I ...

As I started to think about the next thing to say and where this essay was going in general, I started to ask myself questions about my past. This was the first one: why had I done so poorly in school?

The problems started when I was young. I remember so vividly a particular instance of failure that occurred in the second grade. Greene Central School, the north wing, Mrs. Whalen's class; she had asked the class how one might spell the word "you". Me, being a know-it-all from a very young age, confidently raised my hand and gave my answer:

"U", I answered perspicaciously, but incorrectly.

Thus, my hatred of the English language and its elusive rules began.

Most people don't know this, but after 2nd grade I was pulled out of school to be home schooled by my moms. She was on some sort of religious kick at the time. So, in third grade I attended a sort of religious school in my basement at 64 Key Hill road. Our text books were bought as a package from the Christian bookstore in Auburn and apparently geared toward the type of parent my mother was at the time: ambitious, devoted, craving change, paranoid, annoyingly religious. [The package came complete with a science book in which naked Adam is one with all animals, including a small dinosaur! In this way the Christian authors of the book handled the thorny issue of large reptiles in the fossil record well before man. Oh wait, nope, that doesn’t explain ANYTHING.] This year was one of the more happy ones in my life. My mother is an amazing academic with a disposition for science. My love affair with the natural world and its known science took root in this period. That year we went on many field trips to various museums and beauty spots in Maine. I specifically remember our section on geology during which we went to South Paris. This place was an old quarry where--allegedly-- one could happen upon some rose quartz or green tourmaline, maybe some amethyst. That year I had soaked up so much science that I was grades ahead of any of my peers. It was a short-lived thing though, both the home schooling and the feeling of academic stardom. The next year I was back in public school. That same year my parents got divorced, my first bouts of anxiety began and I’m sure I had a pet that died or something. I repeated the four grade, my brothers went to Florida with my mother, my dad hired a real skank for a babysitter. Fifth grade found me in Maryland with my mother and sister. The next year I was back in Maine, where I stayed for the remainder of my schooling. Middle school was hell for me academically, the same for high school.

It is interesting, kinda, that so much of my schooling was punctuated by spurts of incredible energy (as I tired to catch up), followed by complete laziness. Where were my parents during all of this? Fuckit I’m done writing for now

Show boat

You little “showboat”

Row row row until somebody, anybody, notices.

Steal your slight glances. No one is watching.

You call for justice, “look at me”.

It’s not fair, is it?

So bright, you’re deafening, so is everyone else.

All deaf to each other. All walking around, staring straight ahead. Maybe thinking about things that matter. Maybe not thinking at all.

Probably- if it is you- probably thinking, “look at me!”

Then they look.

And you turn away.

Just what you wanted. Nothing more.

Thanks.

I got to thinkin'.

"As for evidence for the existence of a loving and benevolent god in history: we would have to submit a reluctant 'no'."
-William and Mary Durant

There is this place, this cool little place for coffee, on Divisadero street that I always pass by after work. Today I went in...

I began to look at the materials I need to submit to UVM's medical advisor committee in a mere 10 days.

"Why do you want to be a doctor?", I asked myself, almost casually and then simultaneously came to the realization that I have never sufficiently answered this question in any from before. Why DO I want to be a doctor.

great question

Out of hand

my song is, well, mutating. And frankly, it is getting too busy.

I love it.

Check her out.

Saturday Night

I've been in San Francisco for almost 4 weeks. It has been one of the longest, most eventful periods of my life, one of the only times when I did what I said I was going to do.

However, I had help and encouragement from many many people. I saw Alina today. She was my California ambassador for the long months I was preparing to come out. I met Alina at Tim and Charstie's wedding in Foster City this summer. At the time she was recovering from some drunken boating mishap and on her leg there was a giant black brace, clearly visible -she was wearing a dress. I got her up and MADE her dance-we invented a cool new cripple dance. She came to the after party and hung out until people started passing out or ending up other places. We took off to San Francisco at 3am. The entire city was dead. It was beautiful. We when over the GG bridge to a look out point, but didn't see much for the whole was shrouded in thick white fog.

So, thanks to her and Ally and Tim and Charstie and Bill Tickner and Binks and a thousand other people, I am here.

Alina asked me what I like about this place. Here goes:

I love to take buses and pretend I've been doing it my whole life, like I'm concrete-harded urbanite-- all solemn-faced and generally unimpressed with everything. You know the type: the people on the sub-way or bus that stare straight ahead and barely flinch when the bus plows through an old ladies walker. Yeah, thats me now! But in all seriousness, the public transport is clean, expedient and convenient.

I love the shops and the communities. Every part of this place has it's own flavor. It is really quite incredible--look at a map, it's not a big place by any means.

The earth is amazing here. This city is remarkably hilly and that alone makes it worth living it. If you walk a 1/2 hour a day here you are bound to hit some hills. Hills have a dual benefit that has made them near and dear to me, I'll break it down. A) Good work out. B) At the top you are rewarded with familiar and beautiful views of this, a most famous US city.

I've seen very little of this place because I'm not a very good city dweller yet. I need my bike. I need money.

Alina also asked me about what I dislike:

It is not Burlington. The people are more superficial. But really, I say all of this with a great amount of hesitation, cause really, I need time.

I strongly dislike the disparity between people here. There is a great amount of homelessness here. But that is mostly true in any city... at least they have great public services here. In fact, my co-work Michelle volunteers at a needle exchange. I wonder if our nation's capital has one...


But anyway. I'm lonely. And I'm shy... so it's hard. But I'm in love with change and things de novo. Oh well... can't have it all.

Back and back again

Ok, back at Momi, the place I was last time...

I think I got drunk the last time I was here and words they made no sense...

HaHa.

You all have no idea how crazy it's been here. Things have fallen into place like I never thought possible. My life is so FULL of unknowns, and, strangely, this makes me feel more liberated then I ever felt before. This surely is the work of the GODs... yeah, anyhow.

what I would give for a gym membership out here... that is something they don't give away here. I could probably get laid for less than a monthly gym dues out here, but it would be a man, and I would acquire a number of maladies.

My job is about as good as they come. It could not be more perfect right now actually. It is 8:30 to 5, laid back as all hell. I duck out for coffee anytime I want. The people are nice, the environment clean and unhurried. It gives me the freedom to enjoy the city outside of my job. If I was working for Cedric or that bitch Uma, then I wouldn't have the chance to do, well, much of anything. I did like working for Cedric; looking back, I probably made my own hours by not working expediently. But, I did quite a bit of work... so maybe not. I can never really judge myself cause I so rarely live up to my own standards.

Enough about me...

Another thing I do so rarely is write about OTHER PEOPLE. What a prick! I miss a certain someone, and that is terrible. I wish she knew how I look back on our time together, so much of it was spend in doubt and fear. It's funny, a big part of me wants her here with me. It is strange I feel this way now. Maybe better too. I've learnt to appreciate her at last.

For now though, I'm more than content to be me, to be here now; to be all at once scared and excited, lost and found, changed and, really, very much the same.

The Chapter is closed

It is official.

I am sitting in a very small, very cool, very cozy cafe on the street where I am staying. You know, this is my dream. To spend my nights in the company of candles and beer and trendiness. I couldn't be happier. I've been alone almost everywhere I've been, everyday. This place is mine to discover because the vial is only over the void in my mind. This weekend will be my first in San Francisco. Needless to say, I am looking forward to it. My job is amazing. For those of you that don't know, I landed a job last Wednesday at the Pain Clinical Research Center @ UCSF.

It is kinda creepy how this worked out. Anyone who listened to my rant the last month I was in the North East knows that I specifically picked UCSF as the place I wanted to work and clinical research as my ideal mode of employment. And so it has come to pass (seriously)?

I think of my time at UVM and feelings of warmth swell inside me, as they do now. I'm hoping this is the next chapter of my life and that it is as uplifting as UVM.

"Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where, we don't know where." - Only living boy in New York, Simon and Garfunkel

All the time I know where I am now. Every moment.

I guess I can close one and open another just as good.

An account, all to brief, of my friend.

Brothers,

It is 3:10 am in the morning here in South Lake Tahoe and I find myself awake. During the holiday season this year, the Potters--Binks, Earl, Christine, Grandpa, Chris, Jamie and Brandon--allowed me into their home in Talent, Oregon. They treated me with such warmth and hospitality. Those who've experienced this never forget it.

I am addressing everyone because I need to tell all of you my account of him. In the short time that I spend with him, December 22nd through the 28th, he had perplex me, amused me, amazed me, befriended me and extended his advice and support to me. Here is my telling of our time together, and though short, I hope it will give you all the flavor of Brandon and how noble he is. And how much he touched me. And how much I'm mourning future meetings we will never have on this earth.

Binks and I arrived at his brothers' apartment in Pacific Heights. Chris and Brandon lived together and it was immediately clear to me who, of the two, was more interested in leaving promptly for Oregon. I walked into the kitchen and there was Brandon goin' to town on a sandwich. Chris was running around, almost frantically; slamming the backdoor, locking it sharply. Brandon introduced himself and I made all the gestures of recognition that one is suppose to make when one has met someone before (apparently, at a show). But, in truth, I vaguely remembered his face. We met with warm handshakes and hellos.

I went back to the rental SUV (and may I say Binks, in retrospect, we could have used a full-size) and after a solid block of time waiting for things to get packed-up, Brandon descended tentatively on the stairs holding a full-deployed umbrella. It was raining, yes, but the 20ft walk to the car--in my mind--hardly warranted rain gear. It gets better. Brandon, had some errands to run before our departure from San Francisco. Specifically, he had to make a deposit at a Wells-Fargo ATM and pick up some shirts he had laundered. It was still raining ripe droplets of cold rain, every time Brandon exited the car(he did this 3 times cause we couldn't find an ATM with envelopes) he struggled with the umbrella for a good 30 seconds, only to walk 20ft and be under an awning. At one point, he stuffed the umbrella into the haystack that was the luggage in the back, thinking he was done with it. There were still the shirts to get (oh, yeah!) and when it came time to leave the car he could not retrieve the damned thing. So Brandon got a little wet. As a remedy, he had us drive back to the apartment so he could change his shirt. I remember wondering how anyone could be so blind to their own eccentricities. I mean, Chris, Binks and I were rolling on the floor laughing when he would struggle with that umbrella just to saved himself from getting slightly moist. However, during that car ride and the days that followed, I understood Brandon more and more. I understood how someone could be so eccentric and so deeply caring, utterly intelligent and throughly amusing.

He always said goodnight to me. He asked me about my family.

Dinners at the Potter's homestead were a treat, and that is hardly an all encompassing phrase. They were amazing. On one occasion, Brandon shared with me some of his earlier history: his travels, his time in the Army. I learned that he spoke Russian so fluently and so much like a Russian that a cab driver in San Francisco didn't believe he was American. He brought great wine to the table. Earl ("Potter" as Christine calls him) one night after being poured a half-full glass of Brandon's offering, raised it and looking his son in the eye,thanked him sincerely. That will always stay with me as an example of admiration of father for son.

Brandon charged himself with the task of recreating a dessert that the family used to have in a beloved restaurant they would frequent around the Holidays. He had made it a annual tradition: this quest to crack the recipe, and this year I got to help. He included me in the dessert's production by probing my knowledge of chemistry. After an exhaustive crash-course concerning the colligative properties of water and of ice crystal formation (for it was a frozen dessert), he set to work. It did not come out as he expected, but that was okay with the rest of us. We ate it all the same. Maybe someone, someday, will get it exactly right.

I left the Potters with hugs and kind offerings from Chris and Brandon to interrupt their lives whenever I need assistance getting set up in the city. Since then I had talked to Chris once. Things are working out for me perfectly in San Francisco, so far. I will always have a pang of regret and sorrow when I think about my beginning here. I don't know. I guess its because I pictured catching up with him and sharing my progress with him. And, mostly, cause I know how completely he is loved, and how this is affecting the Potters. You don't have a Christmas like that without wanting to repeat it or beat it somehow.

Binks, I hope you've enjoyed this small account of Brandon. I have you to thank for this...

To the rest of you. I just booked my ticket home. I'll see you all, my brothers, on the 24th of February. May I suggest that we begin to think of songs that we might sing in Brandon's memory. Perhaps the Russian song?

Love to all of you,

Matt

Brandon

the air is so thin up here.

Why can we not just stay forever: drinking wine, drinking wine?

until our souls are red... drinking wine, drinking wine.

until our voices are quenched... drinking wine, drinking wine.

My newest song

It is almost done:

Find my

Friday, Saturday and Sunday in January

Okay, these past days are blog-worthy. Well, everyday is, but I just don't sometimes.

Friday:

Had two interviews at stem cell laboratories at UCSF (the premier medical research institute in the U.S.)
Accepted one position with Dr. Holger Willenbring, a german guy who is really nice, respectful and very accomplished. I am very excited to work with him. He is just starting out as a PI (principal investigator): setting up a new lab, buy equipment, hiring staff. This is a real chance to work hard toward more notoriety in the medical research field, and have a better chance at medical school.

Saturday:

Drove up to Lake Tahoe and saw my favorite family in the entire world (next to my own). Ally's parents flew from Vermont. As per the usual with Jeff, Mark, Anne and Ally. was made to feel like a part of the family. I really can't reiterate enough how much I enjoy spending time with them.

Soon after Bill and I arrived in South Lake we met Ally, Bryce and the Miserocchi parents in a very cozy grill and bar. Jeff and I fell into our old routine of discussing random but provocative topics, running the gamut from embarrassing things done while drunk to a systematic dissection of the primeval feeling induced but a hot and roaring hearth. Complete absorbed in our conversation about Mark's new-found acting career, I casually glanced out of the window and was met with a visa of lake and white-flocked mountain. I realized something then, something that people have said--possibly on a daily basis--,but I've always disregarded as a silly sentimental adage. I heard it in my mind then, as loud as every voice around me.

"Home is where the heart is."

And for the first time I fully bathed in the truth and beauty of that possibility.

Sunday:

I went riding, or attempted to do so. It was so much fun. For the most part, I ate it, a lot. I'm still sore and predict to be so until late February. Heavenly was just that. The views were incredible, a mountain range divided two very different lands: on one side Nevada with it's parched looking, brown, but snow spectacled interior; on the other, California: all snow covered alpine mountains, majestic set against the perfect blue sky. And of course let me not forget the lake that sits like a beautiful blue bowl in a sink of some of the shapeliest mountains I've seen.

I had a great time. Thats about all I've got for a conclusion. Check out facebook for photos.

My first full day in SF

I'm in full job hunting swing right now, by evidence of the soreness of my butt from sitting on it at this coffee shop for three hours straight. How is that for a run-on sentence? Hey, pretty good. I've been out of work for more than a month and in California for almost one. Today was spent looking around on the UCSF website. For the first time in long time I felt really excitement at the prospect of doing meaningful research. All the projects looked compelling: clinical pain management studies, stem cell research, neuro-degenerative disease research, etc. But my foot is not in the door, nor will it be with out a fair amount of elbow grease to moisten the senses of these scientist--they must realize I am AMAZING. Perhaps an over-active ego is my first mistake. Perhaps.

My one new year's (is that capitalized?) was to stop doubting myself. I intimated at a dinner on new years eve and everyone at the table said "Aww..". What, does no one else in this wide world doubt themselves? I'm obsessed with failure... I know that.

Tomorrow I'm going to get all dressed up and barge into UCSF offices all over the city, demanding position and handing out receipts for ass-woopings to all those deserving it (aka people who tell me anything I don't like).

Nikki put two away messages up, both containing lyrics from my songs!!! That makes me sooo happy... because I felt like I could only ever be the only one that would like such filth. HAHA, jk.

Later.