Beard Stories

My Chicago [un] Uniform

2010-01-17T00:50:00.001-08:00

Looking for some extra cash

I sold my iPod Nano -

20 bucks is more

Than zero EBAY offers.

First time on the subway,

Third day in the city -

"Where you from?

My name is Vincent,

Can I call you sometime?"

(His shifty eyes

Darting left to right,

Vincent asked me to repeat

Every third word I said.

And his hair was fuzzy,

Like white guy fuzzy hair.

Hmm...)

SHIT.

Is it that dead of a giveaway?

I was trying so hard and

Thought I was succeeding

At looking as city

As possible for my third day.

Wow.

Macked on by a nerd

In the subway.

Who knew cities had

Required uniforms

For [desired] impersonality?

"L" is for Let Me Introduce You

2010-01-17T00:47:00.000-08:00

It's funny how city life varies from...well country life is pretty accurate.

An empty subway is quite an intimate experience. Whereas in country life, subways don't exist, but if you were to ever be one of three people alone with each other, each person would leave the situation with general knowledge of the other.

Here, in the city, you assume.

The empty car is the perfect stage for imagination (especially when your iPod provides the soundtrack).

Imagining names,

Sexual orientation,

Occupation(s),

Hobbies,

Friends,

Lives.

Then the muse abruptly leaves the stage at his/her stop - colors, sounds, imagery - GONE.

Yet it feels strangely like you became acquainted. Or maybe that's my inner country mouse tainting what is normally a bland interchange (if that, at all).

Poems from a Summer Ago

2009-10-25T15:14:00.000-07:00

As I pack for my move to Chicago, I come across various writings...some more embarrassing than others. Here's a couple:

Garage Band [8.8.08]

the heat of the garage in the summer

swells things to globes

and blisters wet drops into lesions.

he told me how he did it:

speak that metal,

tell that heat it's fake - not real

and that it's about to be turned into money.

easy, right?

who's the one fucking sweating?

Orbit [8.10.08]

you have the power to disrupt dreams

and move planets.

did you know it?

jumps that cannot be made without you

lie in pause,

blinking and fuzzy.

can they be made?

and this body, cut open, is dying

and heaving.

your touch would seal the wound

and enflame the heart.

so why aren't you?

where have you been?

Today marked the end of many things.

2009-05-18T22:08:00.001-07:00

Surely this is breaking ground -
Like tilling the earth:
Strong hands cupping punches
of dark, rich soil,
Pulling and twisting
The web of tiny roots,
Their breaking less heard than felt.
(Necessity) Turning over that trodden soil,
That familiar dirt
That became a foot-worn path rather than a friend.
Surely that's it,
Because it hurts so deep.
It has to be breaking to pour
Or be poured into.

Latin[a] Making Tortillas

2009-05-04T17:29:00.000-07:00

There's a reason she's sexy:

The line of her jaw
Strokes her perspiring face
To the strong pout of her lips,
A pink shade of brown.

What's enclosed is strong, loud -
Sometimes soft.

Soft to hear, strong to touch.

Her art is perfect and valuable,
But not worth much in the States.

As her hands work,
They press and mold,
Shaping something to fill
A desire of those who value
Her art,
But not

Her glow,
Her bust,
Her strength,
Her.

For that second she was
Sexy.

On My Birthday [2.11.09]

2009-04-05T06:56:00.000-07:00

I woke up to a bird
Brushing my cheek
As I lay in time's passing tail -
Another year gone
Another something surely lost,
But this morning I counted them not.
I rose to travel a short routine distance
Knowing the pattern awaits.
It began upon arrival.

Rhonda's stories of mid-life crisis, kids, and life (clubbing with 3 kids and a husband) -
Joseph, well-traveled and balding,
Proudly, or carelessly, donning white wisps,
Debating which van would make the best home
For his bedpan.
Another man, Eddie, whose son is in Iraq
While his wife (or daughter-in-law) is fucking someone else,
And Robert, quite silent,
Withdrawn and angry, not acknowledging Kate -
Blank stare.
"Poli-Sci" made his daily stop for a read and drink-meal frappuccino.
He told me how much steel the U.S. conserved during WWI by outlawing its use in bras.

I left with no other thought
But the feeling of the bird:
Soft in the morning.

My route home was tearful
As I counted my losses:
Another year:
Less access, legs, youth and brother.
Progress?
Of course, but is it enough to keep the world going?

I think of all these stories - people - I've learned today
And think of the one's from this year gone:
Luis, Josue, Raul, Pati -
And I'm crying -
Though my world is so colorful.
Another year gone.

Hello 23,
You look so different on paper.

Valentine's Day, 1986 [a short story in-progess]

2009-04-05T06:46:00.000-07:00

Surely, this happened before bi-polar disorder even existed, and you classified the split person as kind of crazy. It just sucked whenever that person was your mother. For my entire childhood, I slowly learned (partly on my own, and of course from my older brothers) how to deal with my mom being kind of crazy and how to lie about it. I'm not sure if I ever had an idea of her as a whole mother, but I was young when I realized she had divided at some point. Maybe it was before me.

And yet, viewing something as it divides is a rare, unbelievable, and awing experience. Like the first time you learn about cell division in seventh grade science: you look over the sequence of poorly colored illustrations in your dusty, worn book (the pages feel too soft in your hands), then realize after looking at your first cell under the microscope that this sequence really can happen! All those little squirmy things move so fast in your gaping right eye. So, cells can divide. Yes. But who every thought a person could? Much less my mommy?

For so long, I knew her sick side. Then, one day, I saw the division line. It's true! I really did see the side of her I never knew. Though just a glimpse, it has impressed something deep and queer upon my heart. Something in my mother began to pull at that division line the day Daddy started to die.

to be continued...

Girl Competition

2009-01-31T13:46:00.000-08:00

It comes crashing in
Like a giant, tan ball of bitch
And then the next day
I recover
And feel ashamed to share
something
That defines and connects us.

Thoughts on Inauguration Day

2009-01-20T09:09:00.001-08:00

Prayer leads us into a new phase,
Though the process may be a guise,
At least it brings hope.
A country
On the verge
Of change.
It's been a while since
We've felt this way.
The United States will suffer, yes,
But we will break barriers
Because of the hope
filling
OUR
heart.

Ring

2008-12-06T11:22:00.000-08:00

Surely you think I'm crazy.
Just wad me up in a crumply piece
And shoot me across the room.
After all,
Messes are meant to be covered up,
Shot into corners
And hid or removed.
Not handled like you do.

The Moses Tree

2008-12-06T11:20:00.000-08:00

Just as the wind
Pulled my grasp out from under my feet,
You doubled time
And calmly gave it back to me,
Making your control go
From the subject of envy to realization
Of its lesson and complement:
Love is firmly rooted in patience.

A Studying Lawyer

2008-12-06T11:17:00.000-08:00

Hi, I'm Jacob from Wisconsin.
I didn't catch your name -
He handsomely down-talked
His portly companion,
Both lawyers, cussing and drinking.
Isn't Monday part of the weekend?
Oh, that life is tempting -
It's very nice to meet you,
But this isn't really me -
You'll never buy me a drink
Or fuck me in your bachelor pad.
That's why I can only give you
This shell.
Hi, Jacob this isn't Jenna.
You'll never know me
Because your intention isn't
To be my friend
Only.

Thought while Running

2008-11-21T20:15:00.000-08:00

One of the most primitive practices
In a world who disregards blood,
Seeing it not pulsing and pumping
Instead as a measure of victory.
This morning was once more colorful
But I will never see it that way.
I'm just running through streets and times
Of a world who will never appreciate
What my hand thinks of this scene.
And though the cold biting my face
Ensures me this world is here,
I can't help but feel distant from me.
If these colors of morning can't be true
Without a color or midtone adjustment,
How can we know we are true
And not just running for the hell of it?
Blood pumps through my body
And I just take in what I see,
Knowing any attempt to re-create my vision
Is important not even to me.

The Trembling Man Reading

2008-11-19T13:17:00.000-08:00

As she walked past and noticed this man
He rose his face and smiled:
"Hello" with a dirty brown gap in his fronts.
Glancing at the loose letters in his book
She wondered if he was trying to learn
English or how to read,
But he was trying Chinese healing -
He was so surprised she inquired,
His eyes big
Smile eager to show her the healing wheel.
And she noticed these things,
But as he told her she was very beautiful,
His bottom lip trembled hard.
Was it fear? Was he nervous?
She left wondering why that lip shook,
Seeing a little learning boy, her heart broken, wanting to cry.
Why does beauty make lips tremble?
It seems too harsh an effect.

My Wisdom

2008-11-07T06:12:00.000-08:00

The way he handles me
You'd think
Life was nothing new -
I can't wait
For age to close up on us.
Now is all we have
And time is where we're going.
How lucky I am
To have wisdom
On my side.

Thoughts on a Friend

2008-11-07T06:10:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just need to go
In order to find
A place to stay
A setting to wait
In, some natural patience.
I understand you now
Better than I had.
I see you:
Shades on, back of the truck,
Bumping along
To your next adventure,
Accepting your purpose
And purpose accepting
Your try.

Be Careful What You Wish For

2008-10-12T10:51:00.000-07:00

As the first fall rain spilled lightly through,
A tear rolled down his right cheek.
He was remembering the weight of your baby body
On his chest, in his hands, to his lips.
And now you're 24 and alone
Lying in a pool of your blood -
The weight of your body cursed,
You were too heavy to carry this far.
their dirty hands clasped around the arms he knew
From the day they formed.
They didn't know you as he did.
They got angry and hurt you -
Screaming and alone.
Alone
As you watch your shirt soak with hot blood -
Disillusioned thoughts, faces, words, colors,
You're hurting and your eyes close.
His lips will never again touch you -
Their last memory is telling you to go to hell.
Now he is crying on this cool rainy day in October.
You are dead.
And he is wondering if you really went to hell.

I Burnt Your Breakfast

2008-10-08T17:59:00.000-07:00

On my left thumb, I found a brown scab
Which I picked in class
And remembered
The bacon I burnt.

Now I know I'll never make bacon again
Until it comes smoke-free and always perfect,
Maybe even instant bacon, one step away from plastic.

Yet, my skin kind of looks like
That burnt bacon and I'm not plastic or pig-
All the more of an excuse for me to pick it off
And rub it pensively between
My unburnt and lucky other fingers:
Fresh and pink and fatty flesh.

There under my scab, the skin is new
And I can still smell the smoke in my hair.
The new skin form an eager reminder:

I must be pleasing outside of the male stomach,
And fire alarms have no "off" button.

2008-09-28T21:01:00.000-07:00

How does change happen from extreme to extreme?
I wish you could understand,
But you don't feel me -
You don't feel alone
On the fresh wake of complete
And you don't wake to a wall
When anticipation puts you to sleep.
This is how love goes to uncertainty in a night.
Change is extreme,
Who's to say it's not right?

Aly, 7

2008-09-28T17:30:00.000-07:00

It took my by surprise
When her little hands made their way
Slow and careful
To touch my face.
The tiny limbs curled up and around me -
I'd known her for all of an hour -
Like a little wanting ball
With sandy hair
Grey eyes
And freckles.
Something twisted inside me
Like a happy agony and all I wanted was to
Squeeze
Her.
I think she trusted me
And that's good,
Because this unexpected love I felt
Was proof
That loving someone,
Truly loving someone,
Can happen fast
And innocent like her small body
Just wanting
A fairy bedtime story
And her mommy:
The purest expression of desire.

Box in a Dream

2008-09-24T06:20:00.000-07:00

She saw a small box, and being out in the middle of a field, wondered what was inside. It was decorated with all sorts of odd baubles, and in some spots it appeared to have hair! Pulling it up like uprooting a young tree, she cautiously took the box, sat comfortably in the cool grass, placed the box on her lap and waited.
Muted noises came from inside and the trinkets and whiskers moved in the cool air.
Nothing happened.
The blades of grass began to whisper in magical, raspy unison:
don't you see this is everything you ever wanted?
Glancing down at the box, she felt the metal of a cool blue bell hanging from it - she had indeed wanted this. It's weight was sturdy and true. And the whiskers that tickled her forearm - had she wanted them? Lifting the box to her face, she brushed the coarse hair across her cheeks. How wonderful! What else? A ring hung from the top center. Hesitant, she contemplated her desire for it. Something about it was daunting, yet it dangled so bright and happy. Just to spite her reluctance, she placed her fattest finger to it. It fit. This ring fir each one of her fingers. Surely she hadn't always wanted it, but it would be nice to have looped around her neck for now. It could be less intimidating. She wanted to place it around everyone she loved, because she knew it would fit the most skinny or chubbiest fingers, certainly!
Other charms of this box glittered. It was so tempting to feel and touch each one, but she couldn't do it.
The way she felt with this strange trinket on her lap was inexplicable: secure, different, intrigued, happy.
The sender, or even the maker, she didn't know. How had this object become what she had always wanted? The thoughts ran over in her head.
As the breeze came, the box's hair scruffed against her, and the bell tinkled an everlasting affection. Now it was just her and the bearded bauble-box.

Is It All Greek to You?

2008-09-09T07:16:00.000-07:00

a symbol,
a scribble,
a broad thought way off.
can you feel the pressure changing?
It's a mess, I know.

untitled

2008-08-14T21:01:00.001-07:00

It keeps raining outside and I can't quit thinking
about
how I felt
In your city that time.
It keeps dropping outside and it is the beat of
us walking
and laughing across avenues
And I knew
I'd be there again.
Even though my muscles were sore at the end of the day
And we yelled at each other
for touch.
My city is rainy now, and yours
I don't know
But you're there and it charms you,
Or maybe you charm it.
I'm at home feeling like rain.

The Blessing of a Brother

2008-08-02T21:34:00.000-07:00

"With the characteristics I have
I can do just about anything,"
The natural good looks and bleached teeth
Took it up a notch.
A fine line between cocky and confident,
"Remember
You're talking to farmers?"
Yeah, they're normal like me.
Continue:
Your ego outgrows
The implants of your favorite stripper,
With every point self-awarded
For being the damn best-looking guy
You've ever known,
I wonder how we're related.
And I think inside my own head,
"Is this just a lesson?
Why do I need this daily dose of
'I'm so fucking great'
to make me more humble?"
But maybe that's not it at all.
Maybe you're a real person-
A model, at that.
Yeah,
A model who is the dam best-looking guy
I've ever seen.
Then how lucky that makes me
To love it when you speak normal
And it hurts everyone's ears-
To appreciate that every comment you make
Is how "fine" or "rotten" the passing girl is-
To know you have a good heart
Under the veil of strip clubs and ass and whiskey.
When this passes and we both have changed,
I'll love you
Illegitimate children,
Alchoholism,
STD's,
Debt,
Enemies
And all.

5.20.07

2008-05-23T13:12:00.000-07:00

Imagine a typical West Texas day - the perfect day for a funeral.

Aunt Seal, or as the program reads, "Lucille Vancil," lies perfectly embalmed. She's cooly open to the airconditioner in Starbuck funeral home, Merkel, Texas. Her 80-year old sisters and baby brother, Howard, look on as she lies still. They visit.

The air is much cooler inside. The chapel is about the size of two living rooms. Funerals are such a strange tradition aren't they? To preserve a temporal thing such as the body, and to display it as an honor seems sad. Seal (which seems more correct of a spellings of her nickname other than "Cille," because of her legendary laugh which sounded like an old woman seal) does not look peaceful, but rather just stationery - just there. And everyone in the audience looks a bit like her: the family in their cheekbones, the visitors in their wrinkes and spots.

Surely Seal would rather her corpse be baking in the scorch of this Texas sun than be bathed in the cool air of a funeral home. In fact, that's exactly what she's thinking about: the sudden gust of cool air that would come in the heat of the cotton field that would cause her to look up to the house where she would see -

But the funeral director closed the casket for the serive. The family and friends look stoic on the box-topped with a huge red rose casket corsage.

At the Mall in Texas

2008-05-03T14:31:00.000-07:00

I went to the mall with my brother today to get his hair cut, so I sat while he groomed and I watched the people go by. Just prior I read some Saul Williams, so don't be surprised if this seems influenced by him.

All the Texans - white Americans - and all the people we don't want.
The Texans don't want the Mexicans.
What?
Mexicans make Texas! They spice, salt and drunk Texas.
The tortillas and sopapillas fuel Texas:
fat, white bellies are Texas.
And fat white bellies walk this state,
Not losing a damn pound
because money and food fuel this state.
It's that 72 oz. steak!
What, Texas? What do you want?
An identity of your own, or one assigned you don't want?
Go ahead blonde Texas,
get it! Go! Flaunt!
Only natural bleach blones live in Sweden -
But it looks so real and it tempts cowboys and Mexicans.
Texas is Eden.
Eden, bitch! We're trying to secede - if not spoken,
for sure by the Americans we breed.

A new short

2008-02-27T06:04:00.000-08:00

I need a title for this story. Enjoy!

[untitled]

That afternoon was the best day of the end of the summer. Was Fall coming? Only in the whisper of the grasshoppers – they kept the secrets from the Ashley kids for they enjoyed their company too much to spoil it. All five of them out in the field just down the road from Mammaw’s. Each walk they took down to this field burnt their soles to a warm callous. They didn’t fear the goatheads!

Golden light bathed the siblings in their creation of realms, spaces, creatures, and language. These are the greatest memories of the family: the ideal. Well, for the most part. There were many great memories involving Daddy, but he wasn’t in the field that time, he was away at work.

Did he still love her?

Modell sat in the window, staring at the horizon. Her conscience waivered between wife, mother, little girl, and nerves. Left. One. Two. One. No, right one. One, two, three. The trees seemed unbalanced: the cuticle hanging onto her left ring finger bled from her constant picking. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Oh, Alvis! Put your book down!” Karen turned from the eldest to the West Texas dust sky. All she knew was that it was so open, so big, so full of things waiting for her to feel them into existence. Several times she spotted a group of Indians solemnly staring into her big brown eyes. What did they want? Where are they going? Can I come? She would draw this picture for Daddy – he would be so proud of the respect shown to their ancestors. Blink. The wind whipped her short brown hair over her eyes just in time to shield them from a hot breath of sand.

Time to go. The Ashleys retrieved their shoes and cans and books and strays from under the sole shade of a mesquite. The grasshoppers began to get restless and a cool wind slid across the weed-tops. Birds circled the field waiting to descend upon their nests. It was time to go back to Mammaw’s.

Walking back to the house, their feet were happily worn and dirty. Norman, the baby of the group, dangled behind to follow a killdeer with his empty blue eyes. He knew because Daddy told him that the killdeer made that awful sound to scare predators away from her young. Why does she scare them away?

They saw Daddy was there sitting near the window. His face was pastoral and gray. To run her fingers on his wrinkled cheeks and lips – to feel the bones of his Indian cheeks and ridge of the Scottish nose! Daddy sits alive in her mind though she sees him grow more serious now, but only when he thinks no one else is looking.

Sally was in the kitchen kneading and humming a spiritual. Mammaw sang and Daddy hummed the bass, too. How could he resist? He told the kids it was time to go home. Sally made enough food for them to take home. Daddy will probably open a can of beans when we get back. He told them to prepare a summary of their day, so that they could tell their mother of every adventure they encountered. She had been sick that day. Mommy is sick again. His voice was reassuring, but tired and they sensed the ride home should be a calm one – they would probably sing (in harmony for Daddy was in the Army chorus) hymns on the way home. Maybe an old cowboy campfire song if they were lucky. Alvis sang bass, Lynn did too, but not as deep. Karen sang alto and Nelda soprano. Norman didn’t sing. Daddy directed them and sang along. I love Daddy’s voice. This made him happier than anything in the world.

At home, the kids began to run inside. Daddy instructed them to walk in, for their mother was not well. The turquoise screen door gave its familiar creek and they entered prepared to recite the day to their mother. The door slapped closed. Daddy took the food to the table. Where is she? Karen peered into her mother’s bedroom and saw her lying with her back to the door. She looked like a withered kitten in the middle of a big bed. The smell was a mixture of stale and menthol. I can’t breathe. Dinner was ready.

The sheets are white. Cold. If I can do this then why am I going back and forth and feeling – the smell? Where is he? Surely he has abandoned me again for them. His desire is for someone else. I hate the way he makes me feel. He will be coming any moment. I have to hide. I have to leave. Where is my sister?

Quietly, the children stepped into their mother’s bedroom. They had prepared a summary of their day for her. Daddy stepped in to preface their visit. Startled at his voice, she turned with wide eyes toward the door and clenched up the covers. Daddy consoled her. She sat up halfway and looked at the line of her children, oldest to youngest. Blink.

She didn’t remember them. She had no memory of her children. There they stood before her: five ignorant and pleading pair of eyes searching for their Mommy. He quickly realized what was happening, and ushered the children out.

How could she forget me? How could Mommy forget us?

Karen handed her shoes to Daddy. He set his heavy palm on her head. Looking up through her bangs, she wanted to hug him. I’m sorry, Daddy! He kissed her on the cheek and they all went to bed shortly. Tomorrow was Sunday, and everyone must look their best. He would stay up late tonight. By the glow of one lamp, Daddy polished each shoe to military perfection and lined them up according to size.

How could he still love her?

Sleep brought him a few hours of relief, but his life was in his children. For them he woke everyday.

To Ben

2008-01-01T21:09:00.001-08:00

I promise to blog soon. Remind me to write about prophecy and tongues. Hmmm.....yeah. See you soon.

Boblong

2007-12-18T19:30:00.000-08:00

I spoke with a man today who is really just supposed to be one of my supervisors, but he took time out to teach me his thoughts of God.

The most important thing I spoke with him about was love. Yeah, that's no different than any other sermon, teaching, etc., right? But it keeps getting reworked through others' perspectives in order for me to grasp the necessity of living out this word, "love."

Many times I am frustrated with my own spiritual advances, juxtaposing them with the advances of those who are important in my life. It sucks. I have a selfish desire for everyone to be on the same track as me, a.k.a. "why can't you see it?"

Love is not selfish.

This man talked to me about 1 Corinthians 12 & 13. Chapter 12 begins with explicating spiritual gifts: prophecy, speaking in tongues, faith, etc. I believe in these. Many of the important people in my life do not. Which brings me to my next point found in Chapter 13: love. Whether or not these people understand/believe/doubt these gifts that I am discovering, love them. However hard and uncomfortable it may be, love them.

He related his own experience with his wife to the biblical story of the faithful wife with an unbelieving husband. How did she show the life with Christ to him? By her actions. No nagging. No wishing it weren't so. No frustration. No selfishness. She trusted in God to work in his own time. And so did this man with his wife. God proved himself.

The parallel between this biblical story and my relationship with my Dad is perfect. I know I need to be more obedient to him, whether I think it's pointless or not, and love him for who he is. For if I act otherwise, I make Christ unattractive.

Who knew God was in Amarillo? Hmm...I thought it was for sure Satan: waking to the smell of manure is an acquired pleasure, I guess!

5th Wheel

2007-12-09T21:08:00.000-08:00

It's weird to be in the middle. Either way chosen is wrong to someone. Alone seems to be the only right feeling.

But God says otherwise.

I Am Not Body

2007-12-05T08:33:00.000-08:00

Exactly how much do you trust me?
Enough to strip off your clothes and stand in
the parking lot in front of men
where they will rip open your skin
with the grain of their fingernails?
Enough to let them drag teeth down the front of your face,
bone against bone?
Enough to let them bust apart your vertebrae
to let them clink to the gravel?
To feel the power of hate try its best
to make us lose the battle?
Trust me.
And I'll affirm your life-questions,
gazing into your soul while its making war plans.
Let me take this coal and brand you so that your skin will be easy to pick out of the crowd - they'll be quicker to kill you.
Yes, it will hurt but just let me do it.
Stop moving! Hold still!
Drink this and be quiet.
Sit still and trust me.
Say goodbye to your body.
My yoke is easy.

[This is something i wrote a few months ago when thinking about the physical and mental demands of complete trust. It demands confidence. My friend Allison asked me the other day, where I get my confidence, and i decided that most of it comes through my friends. God has been so good to give me the friends that I have, all whom are talented and gifted in drastically different things. It makes it a bit easier to trust him when I look at the wonderful people who surround me.]

Inaugural Post

2007-12-02T18:01:00.000-08:00

It was not long ago,
Or perhaps it was a dream
When a floating beard appeared to me
And told be to draw a bean.
Or peas - three -
And then to write,
So here my words have appeared,
Thanks to the scraggly churly beard.
Enjoy, friends