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.