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5:41 p.m. - September 08, 2003
Feeling open and in a good place
A few things:

(1) I am a fiscal conservative, which means damnit, donít do to much deficit spending. It wasnít his malapropisms, his utter silliness, his vain attempts at understanding complex scenarios, his infusion into the daily lexicon of trashisms such as ramp up, his Teddy Roosevelt Rough Rider foreign policy model, or the inane jokes he cracks just before speaking that did it for me. No, no. Itís requesting $87 billion and knowing it will be delivered and while I know thereís always money for war, I say fuck that and Hello Dean. That very last bit is announced in a whisper and is half-serious, half-suspect, but if his handshake is firmer than Bushís, I may be sold for sure. Yes, thatís right; I will interpret for Dean on his next trip to Silicon Valley or San Francisco. I have no backbone, do I? That, or patience.

(2) Dropped Spec off at the airport and that was me he kissed in public. Instant wood. Then, not now. How inconsequential and commonplace, as unique and noteworthy as enviroterrorist treehuggers torching oil-powered equipment and releasing toxic chemicals into the air. If you were at Norman Mineta San Jose International Airport outside the Alaska Airlines drop-off area and saw two guys kissing, one blushing and one winking, that was quite likely Spec and I. I rather liked it.

(3) I was invited to a party Ė a real one Ė September 26. Why such advance notice? Because he knows I have many excuses and will deplete the stock prior to the date and wind up going. I laughed and he said heíll find where I live and drag me if necessary. Donít ask who he is; Iím not ready to divulge.

(4) Emilee has returned from South Africa and Iím the first she calls. That made me feel great.

(5) Iím due to respond to a Friday leftover voicemail about scheduling my poetry reading. Yes, thatís correct: Itís on again. December, I think, and rather than beating myself up because I breathe, Iím going to make doing this Ė and doing it as well as I can Ė the goal to keep me pressing forward. I thought about it off and on today and came to a neutral position, that point where I understand backward and see forward, and I know I wasnít ready the last time. I may not be ready right now, but I am going to work for December and not stumble or worry for an hour and ten minutes, and a half-hour question and answer period following. My inclination is to engage the project Because I flaked last time or Because I owe it to her but thatís my typical self-preservation tactics running over me. I want to do this for me and Iím less anxious now about peopleís reactions to my poetry.

Like I said, a neutral moment. I understood why I panicked after the chapbook was released in 1998; that anonymity of Everyman, my history, was laid open for interpretation before I could let people in. A bad move. And so it was into the nom de plume era, if I may be both bold and arrogant and self-aggrandizing to state, I went: Publishing my poetry, dissonant singularities scattered as the Good Book says, like pearls before swine, publishing for egress and just to talk about my childhood, though I didnít conceive or understand it as such at the time. But itís the same thing when you go to your grandparentsí house as an adult and re-discover half-forgotten growth charts against the laundry room door and think, This was me and you think about how far youíve come and how often you wish to relive those days less so for the nostalgia but because everything was smaller then. Thatís how Iím feeling today: Competent. I see my poetry as logical markers like Hansel & Gretelís breadcrumb trail though heavy seeds left to sprout and itís harvest time.

Ah, mawkishness run amok!

It will take practice to read and not worry that Iím opening too much of me, to affirm that there is more good than bad intentions afloat, and even if the air is dismal and unhealthy and evil, I am able to move forward. I feel good about this.

(6) I saw Dr. Indy today, can you tell? I am glad I did. Sheís a wonderful woman.


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