Tuesday, January 31, 2017
I guess Michael Stipe isn't too pleased that this song has brand new relevance. I'm not either but it's all I've thought about since November. I hear the tattoo of the drums at the end of the bridge like machine gun fire, right behind my eyes. Right beside my head. I was never afraid of overkill, you know? Burn the planet and everyone goes at once. It's watching things crumble that hurts. It's watching people suffer.
Monday, January 30, 2017
Friday, January 27, 2017
The narrow clearing down to the river
I walk alone, out of breath
my body catching on each branch.
Small children maneuver around me.
Often, I want to return to my old body
a body I also hated, but hate less
Sometimes my friends—my friends
who are always beautiful & heartbroken
look at me like they know
I will die before them.
I think the life I want
is the life I have, but how can I be sure?
There are days when I give up on my body
but not the world. I am alive.
I know this. Alive now
to see the world, to see the river
rupture everything with its light.
Copyright © 2017 by Hieu Minh Nguyen. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 27, 2016, by the Academy of American Poets.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
You're wasting your time, she said. You're shouting into the wind. You're casting pearls before swine.
Then she laughed. Her laugh was so fucking annoying that it bounded back around the bend and it made me happy.
Just write, MacGregor. It's the only way out.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Monday, January 23, 2017
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
A tongue-in-cheek tribute to Vladimir Putin and the KGB stylings of the 80s. He is doing a pretty good job (and this isn't a compliment) of gaslighting the supposed, presumed most powerful nation on the planet. Who really knows up from down anymore?
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
I cried the night he was elected in 2008 and I cried tonight as he gave his farewell address. I don't known if I'll live long enough to see a man as decent as him back in the White House, but my kids will . I know they will.
That's going to have to do.
Monday, January 09, 2017
Sunday, January 08, 2017
Friday, January 06, 2017
Thursday, January 05, 2017
The New Year's Resolution People.
Perhaps something in me is broken but I have no resolve. I have a craving for cigarettes. Perhaps it's a case of Seasonal Disorder.
I miss the sun.
My dog misses the sun.
Maybe I should have spent more time reflecting on the previous year, or maybe reflecting on my entire life. Every time it feels like I've laid to rest all the things that need to be laid to rest, some doubt creeps back in. I said it just recently. I could pick any point in the timeline of my life and come to the same conclusion, that there is unfinished business. It doesn't make any sense does it? That's a lot to carry around.
Tuesday, January 03, 2017
Not mine, for once.
They found another young man floating out there along the south end of the lake on Monday night. 19 years old is too damn young to be "found." Unless it's hide & seek in which case it's too old. I'm not being funny. It's just sad.
They found him by the lean-to I was re-visiting last week, ruminating about my ghosts. It only just struck me tonight that the lakeside must be crawling with ghosts. I heard a story a few months back, when they found the last boy floating, that this dopefiend in Windsor Terrace used to drag people out there if they overdosed in his apartment, to make it look like... well , I guess they didn't always to toxicology analyses, right? Heroin doesn't exactly engender loyalty.
Ghosts, though. They must be piled up around the lake like a Coney Island beach in August. Kind of makes it less inviting.
Monday, January 02, 2017
Add a bee or two on each bloom and that's a fair approximation of the inside of my head on a good day. Not being melodramatic. It just is what it is. The New Year doesn't seem to have given me any greater a facility for words. There are strobe light images accompanied by stabs of pain, but not much in the way of a discernable, translatable language.