Long time, no see.

Hi blog, it's been awhile.  My very quiet friend.

Today, New York Times article about Frank O'Hara:  http://www.nytimes.com/2014/08/09/books/frank-oharas-lunch-poems-turn-50.html?smid=tw-nytimes&_r=0

I have not written a poem since last we spoke.

It was easier to write love poems when I was not in love.

"In love" became a consensus pretty recently.  But it is also real.  Real like dreams are real.  The moon is no more important, no more beautiful.  But I feel its transits in my chest.
And I need to appreciate the pain of being in love.  That's beautiful.  I've known that for a long time.  Even when I didn't believe in being "in love".  You know, that sort of gorgeous desperation.

How a couple of words can throw me into turmoil or ecstasy.

I realize these are symptoms of bipolar disorder.

But truly, I've jumped off a cliff here.  And I have no idea how I'm going to land.

And I am learning how to love all over again.  Even if it's unanswered, unanswerable, hidden.

Norma Jean Baker helps me out here:  "Only parts of us will touch only parts of others".  This is a huge part.

And man, how willingly I would give it.


I have spoken to a therapist.  Soon she will be a one hour a week friend.  Nice to know someone is getting paid to hear me speak candidly of self-hate, abuse by myself and by others; the days or nights in which I feel like I'm screaming into a void.

"Ancient children, I am one..." -Joni Mitchell

I'll be back eventually.