Category: Uncategorized

I haven’t followed that closely this whole “race-baiting” thread that’s been going back and forth between the Obama and Clinton camps that much. To be honest, it doesn’t really interest me that much other than it did not raise it’s head until now, when we are about to head into the Nevada caucuses and the SC primary, the first two primary states with substantial enough minority populations for race to be a factor. But today I read this article about good ole New York Rep. Charlie Rangel. He was once the man that I took the unpopular stance among my friends to side with over the issue of reinstating the draft. The way that issue got portrayed was that he was saying the draft is pure good and that we need it, when he was actually saying that if the sons of politicians were eligible to be conscripted, the congress might not take so lightly the decision to declare war. I understood this logic. But today I am baffled by his statements supporting Hillary Clinton’s recent MLK faux pas.
(As an aside, I am not so sure that I still agree with Rangel’s idea to reintroduce the draft. Upon further consideration over the last couple of years I have realized that the rich and powerful have always figured out ways to keep their kids from having to really be in the shit – e.g. our president (W))
Whereas the subsequent fallout of the Clinton MLK/LBJ statement does seem a little overblown to me, I do believe it is validly available for critique. She was being a politician, a white politician, and a white politician trying to win minority votes in the upcoming primaries. I do not disagree with her ends, I do disagree with the means. Stating that none of MLK’s dream would have been realized without an LBJ signature on the Civil Rights Act etc. is historically true. But what is also historically probable is that no white politician would have ever pushed for such legislative measures had MLK and others not put their lives on the line in creating the groundswell of support and indeed need for such measures.
All of the actions that MLK took (marching in Alabama and on the mall in DC, supporting the strikers in Memphis etc. etc. etc.) were selfless, heroic and courageous efforts. Whereas LBJ’s signing of the Civil Rights legislation could be considered all of these things given the political climate of the times, it cannot be said that all of his actions were as such, nor that they were done to nearly the magnitude and potential (and ultimate) cost to self that MLK did.
For Hillary to state things the way she did is reminiscent of all of those Hollywood movies about apartheid and South Africa in the 80s and early 90s. There always is a heroic black figure fighting for the rights of the people, but there is an even more empathetic and heroic white figure through which the American movie-going public can empathize with the effort and understand it’s importance. I am not saying that LBJ is a bad man. What I know of him I like (outside of the Vietnam stuff). But this many years on, we can recognize the LBJ efforts while recognizing that it pales in comparison to the civil rights efforts of MLK and his like. To state it like Hillary did is politically and rhetorically awkward and likely irresponsible.
With that said, I don’t think it really should be a factor in the upcoming primaries. I think that both Clinton and Obama have the best interest of the poor, the needy, minorities etc. in mind far more than most of the candidates on the Republican ticket do. All that they are able to talk about lately is tax cuts (how you can decide to take a pay cut when your credit card debt is as high as America’s is baffles me), 9/11, and how cool war is. I don’t imagine the plight of the poor, needy and minorities being any more improved by a Hillary or a Barack in the White House. I think they both mean well and will do all that they can.
So back to Rep. Rangel. His statements today wreak of so much political bullshit. Realizing that neither Hillary nor Bill can seem to fix this thing, and realizing that as the Nevada and SC primaries are approaching they don’t want to appear as still being on the attack, you get Rep. Rangel to do your attacking for you.
I did not agree with his statements in the article at all, but I was willing to take them as simple matters of opinion until I got to the end where he is quoted:
“I assume that the book was not written for political purposes. It was honest….It was a big mistake for him to have done it [used drugs.] For him to be honest enough to write about it, I guess he thought it might sell books.”
What would you rather him do Charlie? Would you rather him not addressed the drug-use issue in his memoir and just wait until the election where it would have likely arisen and then have to be addressed (surely better than the awkward “i tried but didn’t inhale” defense of Bill Clinton, or the outright denial and “will you shut up about it now” defense of our current president). Surely if this information would have been kept out of the book and revealed now, it would’ve been just the ticket to get Hillary to the general election most expeditiously. In it’s absence, Charlie’s left beating the dead horse that he hoped Hillary would use to take her there. Who looks stupid now?

It’s sweet that I kissed your cheek,
but what I wanted was full-on-the-lips kissing,
the cheek was nice enough and all,
but I still imagine tongues in each other’s mouths,
don’t remember what it felt like with you,
but I imagine.
And I imagine holding hands at movies and
while we drove down the road.
I imagine I imagine many things that never existed.
I imagine your hair all piled up on your head in the morning,
and the time that I decided french toast would be good for several weekends.
I imagine one million cigarettes on the front porch
and a few hundred foot rubs that I could’ve done better,
and I imagine the time we went to Italy in the summer and
decided to stay in bed for one whole day.
I imagine the day I proposed with the ring I thought to be ill-fated
and you said yes and I imagine the time in late spring
when we got married out by the river and we were barefoot.
I imagine the kids, all off to college now,
and retirement fast approaching, and possibly the cliche RV in the near future.
I imagine, despite a full working furnace,
and the thermostat turned up amply high,
that the bed will be cold tonight,
the pillow will too.

It was down Moreland to McLendon some night and then a straight shot.
Or before that there was always DeKalb Avenue involved.
Or just down College from the place where you lived with your sister to that turn by the place where you sell hands and then working your way over in the truck with the love of Elvis to my place, or your place, or what would become ours.
Or perhaps it is North on I-85 to SC exit #69. The business route, which used to be not the business route when I took it to see a woman that I only loved an iota compared to you. And then there’s a turn on Pine or some sort of street? And then on a Saint street? And then by the Quickie working the way back into the woods. Sylvan Court.
Or it was further up I-85, for me always, for you after Christmas for a couple of years. Exit at East Club and then down, forking at Carpenter, and left on Cheek, then by the Church on another, and to the Dude Ranch. Did you think there would be cowboys everywhere?
Or we could’ve taken Ponce to that little spur that takes you to Clifton and then a left, as soon as you see the traffic light ahead, onto the street with the good sledding hill – if it ever snowed – and right and up the hill.
Or it could be down Briarcliff/Moreland and into the park on North and around the bend where you laugh because I always indicate when there’s only one way. Then there’s another left and shortly you will now be home, and longly I will, but use to be it was the same.
And shortly in our home your feet would find their way to my hands, and I would watch you stagger and stammer into sleep, toned, and would stay up (would’ve gone to bed early every night if I could’ve had the proper foresight), and you would sleep, and I would watch boxing and make feeble attempts at writing, and think things were perfect when they were all fucked up. At least they were until I found my way to bed, and your little heater body mashed up against me, and mine against yours.
That’s how we got home.
There was only one way.

Seeing yourself in the face of the villain. All the while I thought I was, or wanted to be, the hero. The one who gets the girl. I guess I don’t even think too much of Winona Ryder anymore. I got older and she shoplifted and she can’t get a job in Hollywood to save her life, so our relationship is, for all intents and purposes, over.
I guess there’s a demon inside of every Marlon Brando, Humphrey Bogart, Leopold Bloom. I imagine they try to do the right thing despite the fact that their mother’s held them too close to her chest.
I am climbing a tree in this cold night, and the wind is blowing and I am looking down on the town without me. Jimmy Stewart. And there’s a baby being born at Athens Regional Hospital that could’ve been mine, in a different story. And people are coming home from Christmas shopping. There’s a light snow beginning to fall.
I’m going to make it back down by morning, but for tonight I just like the view. Up here where I can be anything, or nothing, and no one comes or calls or expects or thinks one way or the other. It’s good to be but not be seen for a few moments.
Sorry I didn’t live up to the billing.
Roll credits?

days like today are so good, but so hard. Steve often asks me what it would be like to stop seeing you. It’s hard for me to imagine when he does ask me these things. The best word I can come up with is lonely. Even though I have all of these other friends around, none of them would make me feel lonely like you would, should we stop seeing/talking to each other. I know that we don’t feel the same about these things. Sometimes I think I am too available, possibly annoying, to you. That I should play hard(er) to get, but that would imply you are trying to get me, which you are not, the pursuit and persuasion is purely my territory.
So yeah, I enjoy these days like today. Every minute of it. Mainly because there are few if any who get me like you do. Who already start laughing at something I am going to do, even before I do it. But I still think that I live in some fantasy world when it comes to seeing clearly what you are. Not that you aren’t wonderful, it’s just I find myself talking about you differently during therapy (if you think you are not a primary topic of discussion every Tuesday at noon, you would be mistaken).
I feel at times like your mad at the world mentality is shaded more toward men than women. I feel like you think men are somewhat useless and disposable. I know you regard me highly, but I remember when you told me during the breakup about the stuff you would say about me behind my back to your friends. I wonder how high your regard would stay if you were around me more often and for longer periods.
Which is what somewhere inside of me I seem to want. It’s a compulsive desire. I sometimes like to think that I can be the special man, the one that could finally make you see that we are not all bad, and indeed in the process prove that I am a different man myself.
When I can see things clearly, when I make the extra effort, I see the road blocks in my fantasy path. There are so many things I want you to be too. That’s not a healthy way of thinking. That I want to spend my life with you, but I want you to be something that you are not presently.
I think I know what you aim to become, but I don’t know for sure. Being mad at the world could be your permanent nature. I hope not, but it is not in my power to do anything about that. I want you to like men more, but again I cannot get involved.
I don’t want you to be lonely, but I believe my thoughts of you being so are just projections. You don’t seem to be lonely. I am not lonely all the time, but I am lonely at times. Like tonight. I don’t want my life to be like this forever. It’s fine and a novelty right now, but I want to find someone to spend it with, to know when Thanksgiving rolls around I will at least be spending it with that person.
I am sorry about the hurt. I am sorry that I still hurt. I feel if I didn’t, maybe you would like me more. Maybe we could see each other more.
Maybe we know too much. Maybe we should’ve gotten married 6 months in and figured it out. Maybe that’s the worst idea in the world.
I will try to keep these things out of our face-to-face conversations as much as possible, in hopes that they will go away, become less important – in hopes that maybe I will be exactly what you’ve been looking for, or at least we both will find what we are looking for and not hurt each other too much along the way – but mostly I hope for the first thing.

I spend my days still spiraling about. I think of not getting married. Of what it would be like to not be married, to not have kids, to not take part in all of that. I feel that it is okay. I can live with that. I feel also that I am young enough to not have to work purely on that assumption just yet either. If you were to ask me when I met you, I would say we would’ve been pregnant twice over by now. We are still single and questioning and proper and interested.
I think I preferred it when you called me in the middle of your drunken nights. I think I liked the idea that you needed, wanted, desired me in some way, even in that altered state.n I want to break into the Icehouse lofts and press you against a wall again. I think you not calling me now is probably better for me, but I still liked waking, or not, and simply walking to the phone. There was that one desperate night when you called from sparkle and told me that if I would come get you, you would marry me. My intellect would not let me make that second overnight trip, but sometimes I wonder if I should have. I know it would’ve been for all of the wrong reasons, or that’s what I am supposed to say, or at least some, but I do believe that it could’ve worked. I love you, I think you do me, and whereas that is not enough, it’s a better start than most marriages.
I don’t want needy, I just want you. In my life tomorrow when I wake up. I want to make you smile. I want to make you feel safe and warm and happy.
There’s this little place within me that I cannot fill. I try and try and try. It’s part physical, longing and desire. I sometimes think I need to be further along than this. I then think there are reasons I am not.
I think, at times, it will be you or no one. I wish you would’ve told me you love me tonight. I wish that was within the realm of possibilities. I feel like you don’t because you don’t want to lead me on. Thank you, but I would prefer to be led on.
I wish I was laying beside you. I wish I did not want so much.
I wish life was perfect and simple and you would believe in me like you once did. I wish that you believed that life was good. That people can be better. That I was everything you ever wanted, like I have to believe you once did.
I wish I could just hold you, awake or sleeping now, and calm the storm in my heart, and just be simple, and stop sending these messages, stop writing on this stupid blog, and just tell you simply and sweet as you fall asleep, I love you, I love, I want, I dream.

The trouble with us is that we can’t be the same persons we were. Like back when you carved our initials in the wet cement down by the architecture firm. Like when I was the maniacal free-spirit that you fell in love with while I was dating someone else. I couldn’t continue dating that other someone because I wanted you, to be with you. I know it’s strange. You wanted it to at the time, but we couldn’t remain those people, could we? The drinking, which was a novelty at first, wore thin on you. I guess it just wore me thin. I became so one-sided and hyper-emotional. I gave in to the worst tendencies, all the while begging you to save me. Was I changing or just revealing myself? I don’t really know.
I like to think I knew you when I first met you, that the decision to drop so much and go headlong into that thing we had was made with perfect knowledge. You revealed yourself too. In so many beautiful and delightful ways, but in a few dark and horrifying ones as well. I try to keep the bad ones in mind too now as I continue trying to recover from the fallout. It keeps me in check when I want to idealize you, idealize what we were together. But oh, it’s the good things, the fun things that tend to create a chorus loud enough to drown those dark things out, and it is that sirens’ chorus that I become entranced by too often.
Is it really trouble though, that we have changed? I don’t really know. I guess it all hurts less now. The depression caused by the relationship ending, and the depression I carried around for many years before that, have, through much effort, dissipated. I sense a calm about you too that I never had before when we are able to spend time together. The conversations we have now, I feel, are more honest and meaningful than much that we had while together. The person I believe you are now is possibly more attractive to me than the one I met in Summer ’03. I realize that my hopes of us finding our ways back to each other may run the risk of ruining all of that. I cant help but want to gamble on the possibility that it would be so much better than before though: the best parts of us now, coming together with the best of what we were. I know it’s a long shot. I tend to think about it too much, to what detriment to other parts of my life I don’t know. It doesn’t hurt really anymore, it burns now, in a way that makes me feel more alive.
You told me at La Casita last week that you were finding your path right now. I am happy that you are. Don’t hate me if I strategically place myself at certain crooks in the road. Let me know if I am too much. Tell me to walk away and I will.

It’s possible for me to be attracted to others, to feel a sexual impulse, to even like them as a personality, but I find it impossible to really feel a true intimacy with anyone, and I don’t seem to desire it with anyone other than you. It’s not hard to go through the motions for a little while, but eventually it starts to seem hollow, I feel trapped and don’t know how to get out. Perhaps this is how you felt that last year with me. I just feel that I didn’t do something right with the only person I seem to want to do it right with, and I finally feel like I am capable. I have to figure a way into relief soon. I am not getting any younger but the dreams are getting more vivid and they bring me to a different, new longing.
Bryan

Two nights in Durham,
three dreams about
three other ex-girlfriends.
Seems appropriates since
I still save my daydreams
mostly for you.

I don’t know what it is. Perhaps too much time alone over this weekend. I do know that part of it is that I am broke, and that being broke makes me feel immature, and angry. I know it also has to do with not hearing from CNN about the job, and that makes me feel like I am not good enough. I also know part of it is worrying about mom and what we will find out this week. I need to get home this coming weekend, but I am afraid of what I will be walking in on. I know I probably won’t even notice, but what will mom look like without her rib. I know it is not really logical and it makes no sense.
I guess when I spend time with you sometimes, I feel like a failure too. I tend to think that all of this would be more bearable if you were still with me. I know that kind of thinking was part of the problem, and I also know that our relationship caused more problems than it solved, but somehow in my memory or fantasy of it, it seems like we gave each other strength to get through the hard times, to get through things just like these.
I have been pretty good about not thinking about “me and you” and not wanting “me and you” again. But today was hard. Surely part of it is a very physical longing, but most of it is that you are still the person that I would prefer to spend time with the most. I wish a lot that we could have more than the 45 minutes or an hour that we have. I know that I can do little to move the needle there, but I still wish it at times. Although I have become agitated after leaving you at times, it usually calms me so much to be around you.
I spent much of this weekend thinking about what I am doing with my life. I am not happy with it, but I feel like it is time to start moving forward again. I don’t really know where forward is, but I think I would like to be a father. And I don’t want to be too old to coach a sports team or go to Indian Princesses or all of that other shit that all of the happy young parents get to do. I would like to commit myself to someone and stop living this somewhat meaningless thing I have been living for the past year or so. I do want to worry and care for something other than and in addition to myself.
I know I’ve said all of this before. Perhaps this is my meditation. Say it over and over like a chant and eventually it will become a sound and thus become meaningless, and once it becomes that the longing and hurt that it causes will go away, and maybe the dreams will stop too.
Until then, I miss you and love you, and still wish that it was you that could complete the picture above.
I know there’s a Bonnie Raitt song somewhere in all of this, isn’t there?