Photos taken and words written April 2017. Desert Hearts, CA.
I’ve been standing on the outside Every twisting arm structure Even the cuddle piles, I chose the couches Underneath the stars Away from the warmth Of other humans I mask my contempt being my tent. Frozen to my sleeping bag Because freedom is not mine. I withdraw from the group because I’m scared I came here with an Open heart and in just a couple of crunch crunch looped myself into proving just how delicate I really am Blasted open I felt gratitude for my community but even there, a disconnection. Why wasn’t this easier this year? I’ve got my systems down – I know how I react, how to act, where to get what I need I want something done, I take the lead. So shouldn’t this be getting easier? Or do I just have the mundane on auto-pilot? Therefore the magic becomes a lesson and now is something I try to create and is no longer something that just happens? Responsibility. That’s what this is. Any magic I thought just happened is actually the cause of a lot of hard work from other people. It’s not luck – it’s work – and the willingness to see the resources available to be gifts to us. Some gifts are only leased – makes us feel ripped or teased. But nothing is ever really ours to begin with. It just is.
Photos taken and words written in March 2017. Los Angeles, CA.
First sunrise. Feels like the end of a vampire phase: No more last sunsets, only firsts.
This morning, this day,
Every day is now a first.
I try to look at it, to take it in,
But too much of a good thing will blind you.
The anticipation in the pink and blue,
The swelling up of joy from the
Perceived coming experience,
That once it peaks over the hills,
It’s majestic as fuck,
And this poem serves no purpose.
Except to be here as a sounding
Board for the first thoughts of
The first morning. The first morning
Sunrise. Is this enough?
I feel like I’m leaving something out.
Like how the gold pushes through
The cattail grass as the wind moves
It in a dance. Daybreaking through
The smog to create a new framework
That maybe Los Angeles can be
Heaven, if we fool ourselves into
Believing that the smog is clouds and the
Clouds are saving us and
Not actually destroying us.
Feeling the irony as these thoughts
Come as this series is meant to
Save myself from myself.
Feeling the irony as I sit in this
Car to write, a vehicle that is not
Mine. Because I am too cold
To do this on my own. With
The wind and everything else,
The suns rays just aren’t enough.
Neither is my hoodie. So I’ve got
His jacket on, sitting in his
Car. Allowing borrowed things to
Start something that is meant to
Help me heal from this past year.
Heal from this past year, heal
From the moment when I’ll have
To turn the keys in, take this
Jacket off, and move forward in
This series, alone.