Skip to main content

About Me

About Me - 2008-07-10 08:36

About Me

I am a slow learner with the curse of appearing competent. I don't know a thing until I know a thing, which leads to dramatic lurches in my day to day life.

I am a 54-year old ex-nurse, ex-husband now taking the slow road to self-fulfillment by doing the one thing in life that has given me real joy-- writing.

Sometimes I write something that no other human could (or would.) I look at what I've put on paper and wonder at the mystery of its birth.

I write for myself -- to please and tickle the bones that make me. Naturally, this makes me more a poet than a writer.

I still believe that words can say things that can't be said by words.

I have been around the block a few times and tend to think in terms of life-as-a-second language program. I have been, and am currently in, an extensive and lengthy mid-life crisis. It may go on forever.

My jobs, which really are the color of life, have ranged from Navy Corpsman to registered nurse to Tire installer. I currently work as a security supervisor, a job that I have no innate abilities at, but, the hours are good, and it's fun like a hobby. When I grow up I'm thinking of selling insurance to old people.

As a child I grew up as an Army brat. I moved every three years for the first 18 years of my life. I learned to have three year relationships with people-- one to meet, one to be comfortable, and one to say goodbye.

I've lived in San Jose for 30 years, so have had to make some adjustments.

But I feel pretty good today -- and that's a start.

(2017 Ed. --This is another school exercise)


Popular posts from this blog

Wedding and Funeral

Went to a wedding and a funeral this weekend with Mary. Sacramento, Santa Rosa, then home– a whirlwind trip through weekend bay area traffic. The traffic was horrible – life changing horrible, but not unusual.
As with most things, it’s a balance of an the unnamed terror and an easy chair in a padded room that rocks. 
The wedding was delightful, part of an interconnected strong woman’s club that marries off their daughters to provably weaker men. And so, the cycle continues, but the company was nice and I’m too old to wonder at the process anymore.
The funeral was for another interconnected strong woman, who, by hinkey or dinky, was a scary woman that I used to work with as a nurse. She would have been surprised that I outlived her, much as Charles the cat was. Please pay attention out there – this is how life works.
(To be fair, she didn’t put up with shit and I liked to throw handfuls of it around as if I were Christ standing on the back of a broken piƱata heaving candy cigarettes to the…

Only once

For clarity, I think I will write this only once.I do not write confessional poetry, and I do not write things down as a form of therapy. I write because I have something unique to say in a unique sort of way, a way that I think is universal in an analogous manner, not as any sort of literal telling of the truth.  I trowel spackle onto pages with a straight edged blade, I don’t paint aging widows with a brush. (My soul has been psychedelicized, but this shit’s not about me.)It comes in this form – that this relates to that, in this way – A form that I think illustrates things that are too true to be looked at straight on – personal truths that are usually discovered through interactions with other people – truths that are often relational, unreliable and subject to the weavings and debris of human beings. Truths that sneak out and become a miraculous surprise of insight – like a Zen master hitting you on the head with a baseball bat at just the right time.I don’t think I’m the only on…

How do I know when I'm done?

I left a message on Facebook for someone I care about that ended with the words, “one won”. I did it just because I thought was funny. That led to a whimsical discovery that I no longer had to place a period at the end of my sentences – in fact to do so would be rude and identify myself as an old person. 
It seems that, for online use anyway, a period has become a loud shout -- a purposeful exclamation point useful only in drawing unnecessary attention, or as a way of making an angry burp of anti-social angst. Sentences no longer end, they gently back out a side door when no one is looking -- they’ve become bars without a jail, or that angry driver just ahead of you who hesitates before moving through an intersection just to make a point of how stupid you are.
Since a period is no longer an end to a thought, its new function has evidentially become nothing but a stuffy ritual of formality that writers can now use to mark up or down generalized feeling of huffiness, or perhaps a way to s…