anchors in your eyes

4/2/2010

Dear Shipwreck,

Even though you’re over a century old, they say that everything inside you is still intact. Even the crew? Must be lonely. I’ll write again.

4/6/2010

Dear Shipwreck,

So what’s it feel like to have everything inside you still “intact”? That’s what I want to feel like. But I’ve actually never felt my “insides” at all—I think they’re positioned in a way that keeps them from banging around. When I was small, I would jump up and down for hours trying to make them rattle. Nothing. I am an empty rattle.

PS. Please write back.

4/24/2010

Dear Shipwreck,

So I was talking to my priest the other day. He’s worried that I’m having some kind of existential crisis. Meaning: I’m trying to rationalize God by replacing the ephemeral with a tangible object. Or: I’ve replaced one object that’s been hidden from view with another object that’s hidden from view. Or: Every time I speak to you, I’m talking directly to God.

If this is the case: Lord, I noticed you haven’t written back yet.

5/9/2010

Dear Shipwreck / Metaphor for God,

I was thinking of Basho today, and I wrote you this poem:

O, Shipwreck, untouched by moonlight,
molested by billions
of writhing quagga mussels.

Is “moonlight” too heavy-handed? Not believable enough? Let me know what you think… 

6/24/2010

Dear The L.R. Doty,

Sorry I got your name wrong, initially. Apparently, in life, you were known as The L.R. Doty. What an odd name for a boat! (No offense, I’m just sayin’). Did you know there’s a poet named “Mark Doty”? Wait—are you two related? Damn. If so, I’m embarrassed to have sent you my little poem. (Is this why you haven’t written me back?) 

6/29/2010

Dear Mister-Too-Good-To-Write-Anyone-Back,

Fuck you, man. I don’t care if you didn’t like that poem. That’s no excuse for ignoring my letters. I will say this real slowly for you:

Write. Me. Back. You. Dick.

6/30/2010

Dear L.R. Doty,

It’s me again. Sorry about that last letter. I’m just frustrated about some things. I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me. No harm, no foul? Right?

7/2/2010

Dear __________,

Listen. What I was trying to say is this:

When I was a kid, my dad took me to a beach on your lake. I know what it’s like to sink, to be angry because no one on Earth knows if you exist.

There had been a storm the night before, and the ripped-up pieces of crayfish covered everything. Then, I thought that scene was horrific. Now, I wonder if that was you.

"For a recently discovered shipwreck at the bottom of lake Michigan". Matthew Olzmann. 

la vie en double

Ce ce doit doit être être difficile difficile de de se se retrouver retrouver à seul deux ou sur seule une sur île une déserte île sans déserte d’autre sans personne personne à à qui qui confier parler, ses sans doutes, bien sans même même une une belle lettre lettre qui qui débarque débarque un un jour jour, comme comme cela cela sans sans prévenir prévenir. Qu’emporterions-nous qu’emporterions-nous sur sur cette cette petite petite île île baignée baignée de de solitude solitude? Nos nos disputes regrets, nos nos calins souvenirs, à quelques l’emporte fous pièce, rires nos éparpillés besoins et de une solitude bonne et dose une d’optimisme bonne pour dose faire de face fous au rires vide. Ce ce serait serait peut- peut- être être le le creux creux de de la la vague vague. Le le doute doute partagé absolu. Alors alors avant avant que que cela cela n’arrive, n’arrive, il il faudrait faudrait simplement simplement en en profiter profiter en pour solo deux. Pour pour qu’une qu’une fois fois à seul deux, ou sur seule cette sur île cette déserte, île il déserte ne il nous ne reste nous plus reste rien plus sauf qu’à à profiter profiter de de soi nous. 

light reading.

+ you know that feeling you get when you're reading a great book and you're already been through half of it and you don't want to read it anymore 'cause then it will be over soon and you don't want to deal with the sadness of it ending and all? because each wonderful page is just a step further to you not having wonderful pages to lean over anymore? that's a contradictory equation that I wish mathematicians would solve already. I know that I make things happen. I'm less good at making them stop. the want always wants more. how does one learn that to dove is to build something for as long as it's needed, then release? and that this does not stop the wanting, does not unravel the spell or make the magnet any less magic. otherwise how do you explain what stays on the body for days, invisible to the eye, but so painfully palpable on the inside? the kissed arms, what they've sheltered and what they've let go? does reading it one typed letter at a time is really the solution?

+ tulips

+ two lips

At some point it becomes true that all stories
are love stories. all making, love making.
I didn't make this rule. but it binds me
all the same. I wish there was a law
against condescending against love. against
the economy of fear that says your joy
means less joy for me as if love
were pie, or money, or fossil fuel
dug or pumped from the earth, gone
when it's gone. it's just not true. the heart
with its gift for magnificent expansion
is not coal. not fruit set to spoil or the dollar
cringing in its wallet. when you say darling,
the world lights up at its edges. when mouths
find mouths and minds follow or minds find
minds and mouths, hands, hips, toes, follow-
how about you call that sacred. how about you raise
your veined right hand and swear on the blood
that branches there, yes. I take this crush
to be my lawful infatuation. I will bend toward joy
until the bending's its own pleasure. I will memorize
photographs and street maps, I will acquiesce
to the maudlin urgency of pop songs and dance,
and dance- there's a perfection only the impossible kiss
possesses. there are notes you can only hear naked
in the dark of a room to which you will never
return. anything that moves the world toward light
is a blessing. why not take it with both hands,
lift it to your lips like a broth of stars. this
is the substance that holds our little atoms together
into bodies. this sweet paste of longing
is all that binds us to the earth.
and all we know of the gods.

"Three of cups"- Marty McConnell

caught in a shout

"Do you ever worry that your political beliefs are just a prefabricated shield that you can hold up in front of your privilege to protect it from the grasping, needy hands of those you’ve ignored and marginalized your entire life? A kind of one-size-fits-all ideological grab bag that isn’t based on legitimate day-to-day living?"

"Are you asking if I have a bevy of easily regurgitated soundbites and stump speeches about a wide variety of perceived social ills that I’ve neither experienced nor seriously researched, that give me a way to pretend I care about making things better without actually having to sacrifice anything or risk more than fleeting mental discomfort?"

"Yes."

"No, not really."

"Cool, me neither." 

eyes wide shut.

Do you remember last summer at Cape Cod? Do you remember one night in the dining room there was this young naval officer and he was sitting near our table with two other officers? (pause) The waiter brought him a message, at which point he left. Nothing rings a bell? Well, I first saw him that morning in the lobby. He was checking into hotel and he was following the bellboy with his luggage to the elevator. He glanced at me as he walked past. Just a glance. Nothing more. But I could hardly... move. That afternoon, Helena went to the movies with her friend and you and I made love. And we made plans about our future and we talked about Helena. And yet, at no time, was he ever out of my mind. And I thought if he wanted me, even if it was only for one night, I was ready to give up everything. You. Helena. My whole fucking future. Everything. And yet was weird, because at the same time, you were dearer to me than ever. And at that moment, my love for you was both tender and sad. I barely slept that night and I woke up next morning in a panic. I didn't know whether I was afraid that he had left or that he might still be there.

#inanutshell

When things in your life seem, almost too much to handle,
When 24 Hours in a day is not enough,
Remember the mayonnaise jar and 2 cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.
When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full.
They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured
them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly.
The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full. 
They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar.
Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous ‘yes.’

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

‘Now,’ said the professor, as the laughter subsided, ‘I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.’ 

The golf balls are the important things - family,
children, health, Friends, and Favorite passions – 
Things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, house, and car.

The sand is everything else —The small stuff.

‘If you put the sand into the jar first,’ He continued, ‘there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.’

The same goes for life.

If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

So…

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.
Play with your children.
Take time to get medical checkups.
Take your partner out to dinner.

There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal.

‘Take care of the golf balls first —
The things that really matter.
Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.’

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.

The professor smiled, ‘I’m glad you asked’, he said.

‘It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem,
There’s always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.’

could the world make any more sense

Late last night, I was having breakfast at McDonalds with some friends. They were having fries, I sneaked in a box of waffles (I don't know if I ever told you about my craving waffles phase: a couple of years back all I ever wanted to eat for days in a row were waffles; i mean, i went out, I ate waffles, I went to the supermarket, I bought waffles, I saw a brick, I thought of waffles; well, it's all coming back to me now, apparently). Anyway, when I sat down, directly opposite at another table was this guy glancing at me- he wasn't creeping, we were just sitting opposite of each other. For a moment I thought "This guy looks awfully familiar, hmmm", but I brushed the idea off and went back to my waffles.
After we finished eating, the guy came up to me and asked whether I was on insert summer school that we both attended when we were 9 and Wham! I replied insert name and things began to unravel. We both went to this lame summer school slash camp for bored kids back in 95. He was this shy Indian boy who liked cats and Mario and I was this shy Romanian Girl who was scared of feathers and mice (there were a lot of those over there), so we naturally clicked, as much as you can click when you're nine. We never kept in touch.
Who knew that 17 years later we'd meet again sitting opposite each other, late at night, at McDonalds? Story of a lifetime much? Maybe the world does go round.