A Grotesque Mercy

Again? Yes, Again.

2010-03-10T08:19:00.001-08:00

Ok I am ready for you.

Jesus wrote, I go to prepare a place for you. Which seems really nice of him.

I don't know why that comes to mind but for the fact that I have been working on my new blog for the year 2010 and it is finally done.

I hope you like it.

Feel free to subscribe or just follow from time to time.

This year I want to bring more outside art to the attention of my reader, so I will include a variety of various and varying virtues, vanities, and inventions. I hope you enjoy.

And thank you so much for following me this year.

It was kind of a weird year, one which began with me leaving and ends with me returning.

It was a good year. Thanks

Toby

http://theamericanartist.blogspot.com/

The Last Poem

2009-12-31T21:40:00.001-08:00

The Last Poem

On this day, the last day of the year

Joseph and his brothers celebrated together

He did not know his brothers would soon sell him into slavery

His brother too celebrated not thinking of the crime they would commit

they celebrated together in their father’s house for the last time

A year later the day was marked again in Joseph’s heart

and he looked out over Egypt

believing he would never see his father again

Imagine this miracle

On this day, the last day of the year

Husayn ibn Ali still lived

he ate bread with his wife and children

and with his extended family on this day

he pondered his grandfather coming at last to Medina years before

he pondered that miracle and was at peace

Ponder this also

On this day, the last day of the year

Nian Shou the beast which lived beneath the sea and the mountains

came out to devour the children of a village

and a child wearing red stepped on his toe

Nian Shou has hid every year after

An unexpected blessing

On this day, the last day of the year

Simeon celebrated the Rosh Hashanah

faithfully waiting on the promise of God

that he would not die until having seen the messiah

his whole life became a silent recantation of a prayer

and he celebrated this day not knowing

that this year was the last year of his waiting

Consider this promise

As we bring these verses to completion

we might wonder how many are left for us to write

we might wonder

but think on how unexpected the verses will be

each a blessing and miracle in itself

only he who has forgotten to take stock is without joy

let only he who has forgotten to celebrate be unfulfilled

We are all returning

says the Qu’ran

We are all returning

our arms full of blessing

We are all returning

having seen miracles

and promises fulfilled

Everyone But You

2009-12-31T16:23:00.001-08:00

Everyone But You

I grow indifferent, I cross my arms

show me one more coffin

one more won’t make a difference

one more draped flag won’t change a thing

show me one more naked “eighteen” year old

you know the pose

your thinking of it now

she got paid what does she care

enjoy her

her eyes show wanting

she wants you to

she wants you

one more joint wont make or break the drug trade

one more hit won’t hurt

Mexico is a long way from here

it is they who are corrupt, not we

experts talk to you about the facts they found

percentage of people who agree

arguments for sanity by majority are sane

ravings inscribed into stone become proverbs

no matter how insipid or insane

what will it change

nothing either way

the cooperations buy our attention

billboards block vistas

give them what they want

package lies attractively

whatever will sell

justify their actions with scripture

Go ahead co-opt Orwell for your commercial

A CGI reincarnate Lumumba selling Diamonds for DeBeers

it is only a matter of time

even this poem is limited by those who read poetry

a certain soul

who prefers Russian lit to revolution

who can read about injustice and redemption

and not see it pass them on the street

keep writing you own stuff and keep reading mine

one day you will find a publisher

one day your audience will come to you

one day you will be rich and famous

you and I both

but maybe

there’s hope

maybe

this poem finds itself in the hands

of a crazy person, a miraculous patsy

this crazy person often thinks stuff is about them when it isn’t

like the FBI is following them or God sent them or that the weather girl is talking directly to them

you know directing them

telling them to do things

well this poem is

this poem is telling you kill one of the following people

Glen Beck, Paris or Perez Hilton, Joe Francis and/or Dick Cheney

kill them because they are dead already

and they are just are a cancer

because if you do. . .

ahh, forget it

weeds are weeds

kill one and five more will take it’s place

in a democracy the soil always the problem

you can go back to being crazy

I heard some disturbing things about government satellites and mind control

and don’t forget

Jesus is coming back

and he is hella-mad at everyone but you

Trappings

2009-12-17T17:31:00.000-08:00

Trappings

these subtle belongings

revealed by imaginings

driven by the inner eye

tearless but not dry of tears

half in solitude but half haunted

softly sad

muted or stuttered

or bit off in grief

or trailing off into silence

or unnoticed

a voice over the radio

speaks of tragedy

a street musician song hits the walls of buildings

a dog shivering

in the cold

outside the grocer

a hollow

vacant window

a sound

hidden within

the darkness

the night

Don't Spare The Rod

2009-12-17T17:27:00.000-08:00

Don't Spare The Rod

Faith:

it’s laborious rehearsals and revisions

an elemental component

We prepare for the day of preparation

Language and Translation/Expression and what is Understood by the Expression:

half of faith is faithlessness

the other is a trust accommodating indecision

and the shuffling of one’s feet

But not to shuffle forever, I mean you can, but wouldn’t call it dancing, would you?

Philosophy:

Thinkers claim they can run and stand still simultaneously

but they are liars

try and teach them but if they will not learn

make fun of them until they feel self-conscious

Theology:

Believers will say faith means feeling nice when the opposite is required

They take off their socks and put them away

and forget there was a hole in the toe

The uncomfortable but oft omitted admission: faith feels worse than the feeling one would seek to avoid by the application of faith

Religion:

The True Believers will say you don’t have faith because

you don’t spell your name the same way everyday

they are fools

avoid them

but argue heatedly with them

at every chance you get

The Act of Proselytizing:

When a preacher speaks of virtue

walk up to the podium and step on his toe really hard

If he apologize

then tell him his sins are forgiven

invite him out for a drink

and make sure he takes at least a sip of his beer

But if he keeps talking about virtue

then kick him swiftly

and don’t think twice

Do not assume that a good kick

is less essential than illumination

Or that a quick left jab

can’t bring repentance

In Jesus' name

Amen

Up the Coast

2009-12-16T11:45:00.000-08:00

Up the Coast

we came up the coast road

competing with the Pacific’s

white waves

you were learning to drive a stick

and I was learning to teach you

to drive a stick

in the two front seats, we sat beside each other

like two books written by two different authors

but on the same subject

here and there we reference each other

fold footnotes into each other

like sand and blue sea water

you stalled out in the intersection of some costal town

and couldn’t stop laughing

some guy took the time to tell me

my muffler was unattached

and I told him we were taking it one step at a time

and you laughed harder

perhaps we are the same book

but different translations

and we simply need to hear each other out

to discover we mean the same thing

Easy off the clutch, easy off.

No see, you popped it again.

I thought that we might be a book of poems

but I don’t know

clearly we are histories

but I don’t know

sometimes I fear we are fiction

or horror

when you pulled from the intersection

the crowd of people smiled

I saw a man applaud

and you looked at me relieved but happy

and laughing

and the windows were down

so I think every one heard me tell you

that I loved you

The Priest and the Farmer

2009-12-15T23:50:00.000-08:00

The Priest and The Farmer

On Monday morning

before the sun rose

the priest walked to the edge of town

to inquire about a farmer’s absence from church that Sunday

the farmer ducked his head

but it became apparent from the priest direction his intention

the farmer waited for the priest to greet him

but instead of returning the greeting

the farmer spoke these words

I know much of farming, it is my life much as God’s work is yours

I know from farming that the numinous pulse

that drives the seed to the surface is not a fear of the dark earth nor is it the want of water

but the love of light

the hope that it might grow

to be rich

or heroic like David or Samson

or old with someone by it’s side

or closer to the heaven of God or the God of heaven

The seed may not die out of it’s thirst for survival

striving against the terror of suffocation

but it will not bear fruit without expecting a state of fruition

without desiring it’s fulfillment

without trusting fruit will come in it’s own season

in its own time

And then he added

When I was a child

I could not imagine growing old

as a young man I began to understand my aging

and as I became a man I began to understand that I would die

perhaps as I am dying I will conceive of a heaven

but i, like you, have much work till then

The priest was taken back by farmers direct words

and he thought he moment before turning back around and returning to his parish

as he left the sun began to rise

Other Bitches Just Front Part 2

2009-12-10T08:46:00.000-08:00

Other Bitches Just Front Part 2

I want to be an urban poet

I want a mouth of gold stones and a donkey rope

I want a sweaty microphone

I want a “Yes! Yes ya’ll!”

I want the first six verses of any Run DMC song

these streets aren’t made for quilting

this corner ain’t made for sipping tea

some sell their soul to the red devil man

but he sold his soul to me

this free form city

this imagination’s sprawl

ghetto from the get-go

Oh poetry!

Oh muses!

Oh rap-battle in the sky!

you are the woodchuck

in my dump truck

Narrative Variations

2009-10-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

Narrative Variations

I will first present an example of a causal relationship

A Causal Relationship

Mo’ Money + Mo’ Problems

Translation:

what if all your carefully selected

happiness only make you unhappy?

Note: a casual relationship is when you buy the milk because you don’t want to be responsible for the cow.

Speaking of

Economics

a girl I know

shortened the word conversation to convo

and saved five years worth of time

not speaking the two superfluous syllables

but she never writes poems

another girl I know

takes credit

for prolly

from probably

somehow the ascetics work and I use this too

This is Disjunctive

every time

you laugh

someone

you don’t

know dies

of cancer

The Eternal Harmony

you are about to die right this instant

unless you aren’t

Hamlet + sparrow = right to the very bloody end

Compromise

wearing one dirty sock and one clean one

Question: are all compromises deals with the devil

Selfishness and Chaos Theory and Perdition

the paper coffee cup you left on the roof of your car

was the one a Caltrans worker was about to pick up

as he was his by a car

and his wife was called

and his wife called her only daughter and they cried

three months later

you would meet the daughter

and fall in love with her

and never know

why she cried so much a movies

or that it was because of you

sometimes we make people happy

in just such a way

it is not something you can trace

with a pencil

it is mysterious

like when you write on foggy window glass

with your finger

Anxiety

some people are afraid to die

more than anything else

others are just as terrified

of betraying their friends

Hope/Despair

what if your children

grow up like weeds

and not flowers

what if they grow up flowers

and you are the weeds

what if they are better than you

because of/despite you

"We don’t like people we don’t like

to like the things we like"

my friend said that (hence the quotation)

but I said this

everyone is afraid

that anyone can do the one thing that they do

there is really no other way

to end this poem

other than to end it.

Step on a Crack

2009-10-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

Step on a Crack

you were told to behave

or the crack you stepped on would find a way to break your mother’s back

or wait till your father gets home

tattle tales and the holy scriptures

told you so

told you about the bodies twisted in torment

and then something happened

not because you were cruel or disobedient

something happened and it was terrible

and you then had to decide

whether good needed to be renamed

Naked Women

2009-10-21T15:55:00.000-07:00

In The Morning

I can think of no better life

than taking picture of naked women

and walking away with silent lips

Late Afternoon

Bill Evans once walked up to the microphone at a sold-out show in Las Vegas

and announced, "Sometimes I am just not feeling it. I hope you understand."

and then walked off stage.

The audience broke out in applause

Night

How my heart sings

Distain/Suspicion/Mistrust/Indifference.

2009-10-21T11:20:00.000-07:00

Distain/Suspicion/Mistrust/Indifference.

Her face was not oblique

but obvious

like white type on the expression of a shadow

lit from behind by track lighting

It was clear

and it said with words

spoken into the collective silence of the serendipitous lull in the seven surrounding conversations taking place at a nice high end restaurant

the sentence

started “I”

and meant

that she loved him

tangibly

And so would never love him

Indecision

Distain

Suspicion

Mistrust

Indifference

blurred

the past tense of blur

it was blurred

as it was

it was not now

but now it was

as before

like your hand beneath turgid water

Cascade of blue house paint over red silk

fountains of gold leaf

Baroque

ornate

gaudy

glowing

pretty of course

but removed

and just for looks

Nothing is a pretty girl afraid of more

than love

being in and being

Feel Free to Hate on Me

2009-10-21T11:14:00.000-07:00

Feel Free to Hate on Me

I saw a woman whose shaking hand griped a paper cup of coffee

and so offered, “Too much caffeine for you”

She responded feebly, “I have cerebral palsy”

I wanted to play it off but all I could think to say was, “Yeah, I don’t like frappachino either.”

Now Children, You Don't Want to End Up a Writer, Do You?

2009-10-20T23:40:00.000-07:00

Now Children, You Don't Want to End Up a Writer, Do You?

Glum was Poe

he felt quite low

and drank himself to an early grave

He lies around hell

in an oyster shell

and declares next time he’ll know to behave

A Map of Us Would Have to Include What You Did

2009-10-19T19:45:00.001-07:00

A Map of Us Would Have to Include What You Did

I hope you don’t read this but you never read much when we were married so why would you start now did that sound bitter good

Because we should have fought more I should have been caught looking at other women more I should have thrown things and scared you what I mean is I should have left before you left

It took me a long time for me to say this without crying a lot of time talking to myself and a lot of time trying not to talk to myself and a lot of time talking to you as if you were there a lot of time on my therapist’s couch

We should have never gotten married

‘cause you’re sooooo gay!

Someday this will all be behind us I mean me

The Orange Eyes of Embers

2009-10-19T10:14:00.000-07:00

The Orange Eyes of Embers

The veins of a leaf quake with the branches’ shutter.

The sky before the storm become shallow, limited by expectation.

The air sighs; the building storm slowly rings upon the world.

Trees bend with objection and grass fields roll.

The slats not nailed down- rattle.

It beats at the doors of the tall dark buildings; taps on the windowpanes.

It bats the hanging stoplights at the center of town as a kitten would.

The sky’s back breaks: impatient thunder booms.

Its deep, rumbling knell crashes down thickly upon ground and explodes in every direction.

Dry lightning divides the entire sky with blinding incisions!

There is fire in the field west of town!

The ground beneath the flames is black, racing up the hill with the wind, against the legs of men and their red engines.

Voices call to each other, work in the smoke, curse for the rain until finally, finally it falls.

Everything is falling with whoops and calls of elations.

Figures are drowned out in the thick grey curtains of rain as if the clouds stamped their feet to the ground.

The younger men rest suddenly weary in the aftermath, they laugh from their fatigue, smoke cigarettes and tell stories.

The older one’s are silent and still kept from animation by a life spent

out on the badlands.

At their feet, the orange eyes of embers slowly die.

The Way a Nail can be Swallowed Up in the Growth of a Tree

2009-10-15T23:21:00.000-07:00

The Way a Nail can be Swallowed Up in the Growth of a Tree

And when we embrace

maybe our bones embrace

and our veins do too

maybe they jump ship and dance together

But we are careful not to overcommit, we keep our hearts on short leashes

we try not to kiss to desperately/humanly/greedily (in time, we say)

but there is a power in not letting go as well

if that is the one thing that is good

(if)

A poem for Ashley for an anniversary we hadn’t decided when to celebrate

A Bedtime Story

2009-10-15T23:08:00.000-07:00

Because once we took it at a run to race a turned-off light to bed. Now we flick the switch down and place feet against the ground, proceed unafraid across the dark bedroom. Once we believed in a fill-in-the-blank progression of our lives.

- Katie Wilson

Down here we all float

- Pennywise the Clown from Stephen King's "It"

A Bedtime Story

As long as there have been beds

there have been monster beneath them

and you still

remember the day when you discovered

that your bed

was just such a bed

You remember being alone

and knowing no one would

believe you

and knowing it was

only a matter of time

until it found you

So you made a lunge for it's tail

and now your in it, arn't you

If you let go of the monster’s tail

the one you have been holding

every day and night since

it might turn and bear it’s teeth

it might consume you

but it might just turn to smoke

The question is

which would be worse

being consumed

or hanging on to smoke

even a second

longer than

necessary

At the Spice Shop in Napa, CA

2009-10-13T10:52:00.000-07:00

At the Spice Shop in Napa, CA

You know the difference

between

the Minnesota accent and Wisconsin one

you can listen

to someone from Minnesota

talk for about five minute

before wanting to punch them in the face

Wisconsin is more like a minute and a half

There were four of them

from Wisconsin

They asked for smoked salt

and were surprised I carried it

because they hadn’t heard of it

until the night before

as if they stumbled on to the

pacific ocean

after hearing a few rumors

of where rivers go

the chef in their midst

was only interested in the salt

she was hesitant

her skeptical face almost mocking

the incredulity of the real world

and when she left

they left

All but one

one of there group stayed behind

a guy in a door to door Mormon sweater

he looked around

he found something

he opened it’s jar

put his nose close

and smelled

he chuckled to himself

he look at another jar

and repeated the method

including the chuckle

and then he left to join

his group

I hope I am like him

The Concept of A Soul

2009-10-08T10:30:00.000-07:00

The Concept of A Soul

If we were all superheroes

being normal would be powerful

If we all had twitter accounts

who would be listening

If everyone believed a lie

the person who knew the truth would be destined for unhappiness

If everyone was sick

health would be discouraged

and illness- desirable

even sexy

You can fight this

and you should

knowing

it is just

the way

it is

Fight this

knowing

it is the way it will be

Fight this

knowing

the fight you take up against these eternal shadows

against the unwavering arms of the ocean

is one you will most likely loose

and that winning

earns you nothing but your own soul

Many people I talk to do not even believe in the concept of a soul

Find one person who believes

and keep them by your side

The 39 Steps

2009-09-27T13:13:00.000-07:00

The 39 Steps from Tobin Johnston on Vimeo.

The 39 Steps

In movies, when a man and a woman are handcuffed together

they always fall in love

I think about those times in film

where one person has to convince someone else to trust them

usually trying to get them to connect the dots about deep shit rolling down hill

or some

improbably bad thing about to happen

“There a bomb on that bus!”

“There are snakes on that plane?”

“You know dinosaurs are gonna get out.”

Soilent

green

people :(

“Come with me if you want to live.”, they say

or like

Cassandra cry, “Save your self. . . but save me too.”

Sometimes they just want to plead their case

they want to say that they didn’t do something they everyone else

thinks they did

with that soulful but insincere recitation

of baby,

baby,

baby

please

believe me!

I think about what if this happened to us

what if I had only one thing

to tell you

to convince

you to trust me

I would not want to say anything corny or unoriginal

those ___________

THREE LITTLE WORDS

take a life time to say

and are better said by action

not one but a montage lasting an entire life

I would not want to say anything I could not prove

I wouldn’t tell you

that everyday would be a photo booth smile

(and you won’t believe that anyway)

I wouldn’t want to lie to you

I wouldn’t want to tell you that nothing will ever hurt again

or that you can sell your black dress for a red one

No baby

buy a red dress

and we’ll keep the black one tucked away

I think if I just had a few things to tell you

Just a small amount of time to convince you

I would tell you

that the thing you worked your whole life to preserve

the thing that you have kept hidden within yourself

the thing that has kept you alone for most of your life

that is why one day

you will loved

and then I’d go out

and get

a pare

of handcuffs.

A Letter Left by Erik Salvador Ayala

2009-09-26T10:46:00.000-07:00

A Letter Left by Erik Salvador Ayala

Printed as found published in the The Oregonian newspaper

To my friends and family: I am sorry.

And to my friend, (redacted)

I am especially sorry. I know it's not much consolation but as my friend and roommate you are entitled to everything that I own. Maybe these things can bring in a few bucks.

Good luck in this (expletive) world.

Erik

If you need my personal information for any reason, here it is:

My ssn: (redacted) My bank account number: (redacted) My alien number: (redacted) My ODL: 974739 My birthdate: 03-10-84

The check I wrote you should be most of the money in my account. I gave you an affidavit in case you want to check what's left but it's probably less than $20.

Qwest account login (www,quest.com\myaccount):

(redacted) (redacted)

My car is up to date with maintenance. It just leaks a little oil. You can probably get at least 2.5 grand for it. It'll be somewhere downtown but I'm not sure where. I'm sure you'll get a letter about it soon.

You know my ps3 is special. Similar USED ps3's go for AT LEAST $450-$500. Our landlord guy wants a ps3 like mine. Let him know that $400 would be a GOOD deal. If he doesn't want it, format the drive by going to Settings>System>Format Utility. You can say it "comes with the latest firmware software" to help market it on the internet. In case you don't know, it's the special "100% backwards compatible" (60 GB) ps3.

I'm sorry to put all this on you buddy, good luck.

Write Poetry all you Want, Michael Bay has his Finger on the Pulse

2009-09-24T13:46:00.000-07:00

Write Poetry all you Want, Michael Bay has his Finger on the Pulse

The last act makes a film. Wow them in the end, and you got a hit.

Robert McKee from Charlie Kaufman’s Screenplay “Adaptation”

I scream,

“Get the in car!

We don’t have time for your stuff.”

[Pan Right]

As you run and hurl your agile twenty-four year old body

slow

motion

style

into the passenger seat of my silver Toyota

[Cut To]

Everything else is a montage of squealing tires and stick-shifting and

gas-pedaling

all the way to the California border

[Long Shot- Helicopter]

In the last ten miles the cops take up the chase

(for building dramatic effect)

They chase the car like a kite tail

but they are to late and they know it

I play some obscure retro-seventies funk on the radio in the style of Tarintino

(which is to say, in the style of someone he stole from)

as you fire clip after clip

out the back window to keep the sirens at a distance

And as we barrel over the state line into Oregon

The real California

from San Diego to Yreka

sinks into the pacific ocean

like the Red Sea from the Ten Commandments

but it is real this time

the real mother fucking California

no blue screen, no model, no CGI

The end, roll credits

house light come up

And you and I

we made it

and must begin out lives now as refugees

Epilogue

The nation commemorates this day of tragedy

when the ocean was stopped the mountains of the Sierra Nevada

the death toll was just shy of 37 million people

Bombay India is now the movie capital of world

China’s Hefei city became the new Silicon valley

Oliver Stone did a movie

Unfortunately he was out of town at the time

and I was played by Daniel Craig

and you

Halle Berry

I got a job for a while at a coffee house in Eugene

and you worked at a bowling alley

until you got excepted to Grad school in Denver

and I got into Brown 1,954 miles east of you

and then we had to decide

how much of what we had risked together

was worth

the sacrifice of keeping

These God Damn Autobiographies

2009-09-23T13:34:00.000-07:00

These God Damn Autobiographies (Abridged) from Tobin Johnston on Vimeo.

Song Initial by taken from Mckenzie Stubbert's Album "That Is To Say".

These God Damn Autobiographies

I have no excuse for silence

so I wrote down a few of my thoughts

August

the month of

A gust, august, a ghost, a guest, a host, a home, a house

You asked me once

Would I die for love?

to answer you I wrote my own obituary

In school they teach you

The first sentence must grab the reader

and so here it is-

“What else could we have done, we were only children?”

when I finished writing this line, I had aged ten years

Eugene

I got the fuck out of there

thank you and now

goodbye, adieu, adios, forever

even if I ever return, we won’t,

we won’t recognize each other

September to December of ‘08

I ran ‘till I was out of breath

I ran straight to the end of the year

All the way to California

Barely there but not all the way here

from everythingunderwater and grey rain

a sun, bone white, hung indifferently above interlacing strip malls

But the sun was a poem as well, it read

survivor’s guilt is the prize of those who survive

and if you walk out of the desert, you remember most the taste of water

January

there some deceptions and fictions of course

you could tell I was a little off

but I was hoping you thought I killed a man with my bare hands

in an illegal cage fight

the only thing cooler than a jailhouse tat

is not going to jail

Blue period

a meaningless solution

not suitable for children or pregnant mothers

maybe too much porn

and dark ideas

Shall I live and not die

Ashley, Idealism and the month of April (as if anything is ever ideal)

Have you ever seen an artist with grey hairs on his head?

you only think you did

but as it turns out

it was just a clever ad for cigarettes

Thank you David Bazan

I owe you a coke

Shadows must dance, they have no words to give

but I am not a shadow yet (or at least, this is what they tell me)

they tell me- I have no excuse for silence

I bought oranges at the produce stand you worked at

you got them for free

because you worked there

but I split what I bought with you anyway, anyways,

any

way

And you became

the heroine of an imaginary novel I am writing in my mind

Here is the first sentence-

“A girl in love with the waters of the Puget Sound want

only a stove to set a teapot upon.”

I keep my words in jars

these faded Polaroid days

glass jars

ones with metal lids screwed tight

And I try to ignore my fear of hammers and stones

When I wake up before you

the taste of desert is in my mouth

and I walk through the quite rooms

I promising the silence

I will do this better this time

I confess to the bathroom mirror every single morning

A Coworker

2009-09-22T23:12:00.000-07:00

A Coworker

A coworker confronted me at work today

he said

he knew

what my problem was

“You know what your problem is Toby?”

I was tempted to answer, “The ever looming fear of auto-erotic asphyxiation.” or “Nietzsche’s Transvaluation of Values.” but I was kept silent by the sincerity wrinkle on his forehead

He continued,

“Instead of seeing how you can help other people here at work,

you only see what you can get out of them for yourself.”

I waited for more but that was it

and we were silent as he looked at me

with the sort of smug confidence of an armchair quarterback

who had guessed correctly the penalty flag was on the defense

I considered his words in my mind but before I agreed or disagreed

I felt I needed some clarification

“Logan, What is it that you think I get out of working with a bunch of horse fucked simpletons?”

His face changed

and at this point he brought up a different complaint

Sick

2009-09-20T17:28:00.001-07:00

Sick

Doctor:

"What seems to be the problem?"

Me:

"Doctor, It's my words. My words fail me.

I can't kill anyone with just words.

Doctor:

I am afraid your problem is philosophical.

"A Place Worse than Hell, A Feeling Worse than Death"

2009-09-20T16:26:00.000-07:00

“A Place Worse than Hell, A Feeing Worse than Death”

I caught myself writing-

“A place worse than hell, a feeling worse than death.”

Enough!

I am not tied up with ropes

I am not marooned

I am not forced to keep my insane Creole wife in the attic

Treasure does not sit in a place I can not enter

The spirit has not abandoned me yet

The angel might have cast me from the garden

but it is nothing personal

he does that to everybody

a little older by experience, perhaps

but by no means senile I have a cane

but I don’t need it to walk

only wave at park pigeons

and unruly children

And I try to behave

Lord knows

I try to curse the guests at weddings politely

and when I speak profanity to infants

I have the kindness to do it in a tone they hear as soothing

I am a little salty, perhaps

like a disenfranchised party member

a little too John Lennon after John Lennon was shot

imagining a world where no one got shot

or wishing instead that he had shot first

Orwell's donkey said it best, or better than I can

He said, "Donkeys live a long time."

The sobering details are as follows-

whatever love I am to experience in this middle period

must be understood as an act of shear will to live

(I will stop now, before I do something truly dreadful like quote T.S. Eliot)

scolding myself for being so dramatic

I don't mean to be dramatic

but there it is. . .

A Vase Shaped like My Head

2009-09-18T11:30:00.001-07:00

My head is a vase

sprouting flowers

groomed of weeds

knocked from the windowsill

and broken on the street’s hard face

but repaired

it is not as good as "new"

but as good

as good

A Story that Ends or Begins at an Airport

2009-09-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

A Story that Ends or Begins at an Airport

At the St Louis Airport terminal

Workmen finally finished the seven month renovation

which no one noticed

because an airport

is a storeroom of flux

a loose collection of transitory and impermanent things

here we come home, here we leave

remembering nothing but flight numbers

and the tops of clouds

and what loved ones looked like

the day they left

the day they finally came home

quickly matching up memories

with the disjunctive of change

She stepped quickly away from her fears of separation

and he watched her go

waiting out each step

to see if she would look back

She would call him from her destination like she promised

and they would talk about the day they experienced apart

and she would wait patiently for the silence

in the receiver

telling her she could hang up

he was gone

She put down the phone

with a feeling she always got

a feeling she had something to say

but didn’t know how or when to say it

She went to the bathroom mirror and began to rehearse

like a faithful understudy

unsure if a time would even come for her to speak the lines

that she had written many time

into the ceiling just above her bed

All Poets Go To Heaven

2009-09-12T09:16:00.000-07:00

All Poets Go To Heaven

Written for the Occasion of McKenzie Stubbert's and Tiffany Kimmel's Wedding

and with gratitude to Meg Weber

In heaven new souls meet at the feets of John Keats

and ask, “What is a poet, so we may know it

when we are born anew?”

And John responds,

“If there is a one thing that a poet is

a defining duty

to truth and beauty

and always, always, always standing on the side of love.

Beside love-

to defend it, its loftiness, its worthiness,

and don’t forget its foolishness.

A poet must choose

to be a champion of fools,

to champion the foolishness that is love.

And here Mr. Keats spoke plain and assertive.

(A thing for a poet that is quite on heard of)

He said,

“New souls,

the poet speaks on behalf of the love that unites the lover and beloved,

for the time they spent apart, in waiting.

It was the poet who carried the story from Ithaca.

The poets speaks on behalf of the love that collects witnesses to vows,

the virgins who kept their lamps at the ready were each poets.

The poet speaks for tenderness’ inevitable victory over cruelty,

for sacrifice wining out against self-love,

The poet speak of the gift of love,

and if anyone brings anything but love

let them be thrown out here.

At this,

The old embittered ash in the Grecian urn

waits for Keats to speak his turn,

so he can give a cynical critique.

He, the cynic says,

“Love has always made poets blind.

I have some question if you don’t mind?”

“What if love is a lie?”

And Keats speaks,

“Then love will find the truth.”

And the cynic says again, “What if we want only luxury and happiness?”

And the poet says, “Love will learn the joy of sacrifice.”

“But what if there is resentment and indifference?”

“Then love will learn a greater love.”

The cynic says, “What guarantee is there?”

And poet says, “Love is loves best critique.”

“And what if there is fear?”

And the poet agrees and says, “Yes, yes there is fear and yet love prevails.”

And the cynic says, “What hard work love is?”

And the poet says, “No Shit! But love is not afraid of this in the slightest.”

“But what if sickness comes, what if there is only death waiting?”

And the poet says, “A life of love is a good thing no matter it’s length.

But there is no sickness now,

it is not a time to speak of that parting,

it is not been given to the lovers to comprehend this,

for this is the moment of love.”

And the cynical ash curses and says, “What if God does not care, what if God looks away?”

And the poet says,

“How could this be- for God is love!”

The ash fell silent,

the new souls too,

as the poet John Keats whispered a warning.

It was not the warning of those Heartbroken

who say love is a lie

or that love fades.

It is a warning that love is precious.

Love is of limited quantity.

Each one of you new souls might experience genuine love only a handful of time in your life,

only a handful of times

if you are lucky

It is worth giving everything for this love, giving everything

and holding on to nothing else.

And the ash in the urn was struck by the truth of this

and was silent and pensive.

And in the morning of the next day, to everyone’s surprise but John Keats,

it was gone and in it’s place

was a new soul.

Windfall

2009-09-11T18:28:00.000-07:00

Windfall

I have no excuse for silence

so I wrote down a few of my thoughts

August

the month of

A gust, august, a ghost, a guest, a host, a home, a house

You asked me once

Would I die for love?

to answer you

I wrote my own obituary

In school they teach you

The first sentence must grab the reader

and so here it is-

“What else could we have done, we were only children?”

when I finished writing this line, I had aged ten years

Eugene

I got the fuck out of there

thank you and now

goodbye, adieu, adios, forever

even if I ever return, we won’t,

we won’t recognize each other

September to December of ‘08

I ran ‘till I was out of breath

I ran to the end of the year

California

Barely there but not all the way here

from everythingunderwater and grey rain

a sun, bone white, hung indifferently above interlacing strip malls

But the sun was a poem as well, it read

survivor’s guilt is the prize of those who survive

and if you walk out of the desert, you remember most the taste of water

January

some deceptions and fictions

you could tell I was a little off

but I was hoping you thought I killed a man with my bare hands

in an illegal cage fight

the only thing cooler than a jailhouse tat

is not going to jail

Blue period

a meaningless solution

not suitable for children or pregnant mothers

maybe too much porn

and dark ideas

Shall I live and not die

I rode my motorcycle to Andy’s dad’s house

God bless you Ted Weber

you knew I needed to come home and so knew I needed first a home

Ashley, Idealism and the month of April (as if anything is ever ideal)

Have you ever seen an artist with grey hairs on his head?

you only think you did

Yeah, I could of sworn I saw it too

but as it turns out

it was just a clever ad for cigarettes

Thank you David Bazan

I owe you a coke

Shadows must dance, they have no words to give

but I am not a shadow yet (or at least, this is what they tell me)

they tell me- I have no excuse for silence

Napa, CA

I bought oranges at the produce stand you worked at

you got them for free

but I split what I bought with you anyway, anyways,

any

way

And you became

the heroine of an imaginary novel I am writing in my mind

A girl in love with the waters of the Puget Sound

“Nothing depresses me like summer, like California, like here.”

You want only a stove to set a teapot upon

But the girl, she hits what she aims at

Of course you’re spoiled dear

but where some are spoiled by sports cars, carpel tunnel popping the collar of their pink polo shirt

daddy bought business cards after college

married a model or became a trophy

there were others

who were spoiled by suffering

like fruit dropped by the wind

left on the grassy ground

uneaten

in the Eden’s garden that is this American century

You keep yourself in jars

these faded Polaroid days

glass jars

ones with metal lids screwed tight

It’s funny your mother said,

“Maybe you will find a boy who understands. . .”

but this. . . this will never work

this could never work

Of course you are an Aquarius

so your horoscope makes you immune

to my black claws

you read Free-will astrology in bed

and think it so scorpion of me to scrunch my face

and pick fights

and wail, and wail, and flail

against my own happy unhappiness

This: a destiny for people who do not believe in fate

Some mornings we are just normal for two people so strange

I want to be the redemption of Ted Huges

and I will not rest until every last vow is made a poem and the otherway around too

I will not rest until every last mosquito is dead

I am the re-birth of Birthday Letters

What I have is what I offer

What I offer is what I love

Until the end of the whole world

“World, what world?”

until the end of us, I mean

even when I remember only the desert

I promise you

I will do this better

I tell the bathroom mirror every morning

And when I remember only the desert

you remind me of water

with your wet lips

and pink mouth

in a silent way

and then I believe it again

with my heart again

You tell me

the heart that pumps blood is made for promises

and so it is the heart that grieves

and the heart that needs time to heal

just as the other half of black is white

This is a paradox

but it is true either way

those who suffer, love

those who love do not suffer

When I see Ashley after I have not seen her in a while

I think an apple picked from the limb by the wind

but rescued from an ignominious fate

by a gentle hand

It is not redemption

redemption takes a long time

but it could be the beginning of it

And when a fortune comes to those who are not looking for anything other than subsistence

it is called- a Windfall

Windfall is a beautiful, beautiful word

Windfall.

The Last Knot in a Series of Knots- Part One "The Long and Black-Heavy Night"

2009-09-11T17:31:00.000-07:00

The Long and Black-Heavy Night

Part One of The Last Knot in A Series of Knots

The leaves of memory seemed to make a mournful rustling in the dark.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

These children of twilight

these in-between thoughts,

these gray hours are the most trying for us

these purgatory times

broken from the peace of illusion, kept from the recited lie,

exiled from imaginings

Even soft breathing disturbs the yellow dust of dusk

so might an explosion

but the long and black-heavy night

waits to be endured

asks its guests to abide in it

it calls to each by the name their lover knows

says to each

wait a while longer

I will not keep you any longer than necessary

it promises

Just passed the curtain, just passed the blinds,

just passed the window

the street light at Trancus and Main cycle through their counts

green, yellow, red, green

even when the roads are empty

Counted on fingers these

counted on colorless segmented knuckles these

measured with the weight of tear drops dropped into silence given

collect all

and cast them all to the fallow fields

in pitchers

and buckets

and bathtubs

and sink basins

What is this account? Who keeps this ledger divided?

Measuring abyss with stands of hair

the length of arms fingertip to fingertip

listening for. . .

for what?

For whom?

Conversing with the obscure shadows of providence

and mentioning little nothings to the hush

and hearing only the deliberate hammering of the heart

a fruitless task

streetlight says

even when the cars are present

a foolish, feckless exercise

Second, minutes, hours outside the sun are like chaff

a time measured only in horizons

a milestone distance

Today is a Tuesday, just like a Tuesday

but a Tuesday farthest from the Thus Far

56 second passed one minute

a little time here is given for remembrance

about four seconds, give or take

before another, approaches like a stranger

faces faceless fears facelessly

the familiar meets visage unfamiliar

but it knows you and your disguises

it picks you from the shuffling crowd of morning commuters

it finds you while you are busy thinking otherwise

A hundred years

in a single year

is a single year

is a year

In one’s mind the length of a entire life might be lived again

and died again

each petering hour

The loss and triumph of the sum total of days

bound up in four second short of an even sixty second,

which is one minute

and one/sixtieths of an hour, simultaneously

And now your running late

but bus is at the bus stop

and the train comes to the station on schedule

and there is no negotiation to be had

your running feet sound a protest on the cement

but there is no negotiation to be had

Each morning eyes can look for the reprieve of dawn

a stay of execution

if they are willing

if they are capable

if they have not been blinded from weeping

shut forever

by the long and black-heavy night

The Last Knot in a Series of Knots- Part Two "A Conscience Objection"

2009-09-11T16:41:00.000-07:00

A Conscience Objection

Part Two of The Last Knot in A Series of Knots

Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths

~William Shakespeare

What if it only half worked, the gun

there are no guarantees it would work all the way

the train conductor would feel helpless and would lose sleep

and remember the day when it returned next year, at least for a few years

his children would loose a little of him

I could get my car up to 90 at least and ruin it but I would want my mother to have it

there would be a lot of people late to work or late coming home

and a few cops would have so much paper work

and again what if it didn’t work

a bathtub would be nice- all that warm water, but it would go cold

and the person who found me would have trouble going into bathrooms

and a therapist isn’t cheap

the same is true of the garage

in fact I can’t let anyone find it

the leftovers, I mean

I can’t do that to a friend or stranger

it just wouldn’t be fare

so the ocean is the most logical choice

but then I would be contributing to the pacific garbage patch

ideally, if I could find a bathtub at the end of the universe

that would sink in to space like split ship into a understanding sea

I won’t publish this poem

like everything else it’s not that good

and people might ask or be worried

or what if they weren’t

it is better I keep it

so that one day

I can find it

and remember

how things

have changed

and if they haven’t

then I was overly optimistic

but will regret little

there is always time to fix mistakes

The Last Knot in a Series of Knots- Part Three "Grabbing the Knife by the Blade"

2009-09-11T16:28:00.000-07:00

Grabbing the Knife by the Blade

Part Three of The Last Knot in a Series of Knots

Then I took a second long sip, nearly finishing the beer, and feelings of transgression left me. There was no more awareness of possibly doing myself harm, whether I found it thrilling or not. You see, that Tennessee Williams click arrived almost immediately. The click that says: Everything is going to be alright. I guess it's a lie, but it's a very believable lie.

~Jonathan Ames

Those who succeed at suicide

know that death is not at all a madness or fever

but is more like the smooth clarity found in a novel turn of phrase

a slip of the lip or half completed gesture

the impeccable timing of a punch line

at which only a fool would laugh

I thought of her as I had not in a long time

not since my father left

when I first saw her in beneath my skin

burning there, amounts the train yard of bones and sinew

I thought of her as a collective of decisions

a hub of intentions and happenstance

a montage of portraits

in this scene, I place my body

in this, I am a guilty witness, refusing to intervene

in this, I hear the prayers for forgiveness

But I remembered you

before I could be swept up in events

before I fell into the plot

I remembered

you might have a child one day McKenzie

and would need someone to pass out cigars

and Erik, you might someday still have need of an older brother

and Boomer, I don’t know if you will need me but can’t take the risk of being absent

and I remembered you, Andy

how when were kids we would skip school

and how when were older we would smoke and drink beer together

and how one day

you will die too

and I will want to be by your side

I will want to hold you in my eyes

as you die

and I can not

do this

if I

myself

dead

Hot Coffee Haiku

2009-09-10T18:54:00.000-07:00

Hot Coffee Haiku

I make us coffee

on those mornings you don’t work

and then we drink it

Hot Coffee Haiku from Tobin Johnston on Vimeo.

A Poem on Overhearing Someone Writing a Haiku about a Frizzle Chicken

2009-09-10T18:42:00.000-07:00

A Poem on Overhearing Someone Writing a Haiku about a Frizzle Chicken

Friz/zle Chick/en

(it’s five, seven, five, right?)

The! . . The Friz/zle Chick/en

(good, that works)

Is the unicorn of chicken

Is the un/i/corn of chick/en

(damn!)

The Friz/zle Chick/en

The un/i/corn of chick/ens

It is like. . .

(shit)

like someone fluffed it

(that doesn’t make sense)

Some/one fluffed it. . . . . .up.

. . . UP!

Some/one fluffed it up!

(yes!)

Ashley’s Haiku

The Frizzle Chicken

The Unicorn of Chickens

Someone fluffed it up

Lies/Smoke

2009-09-08T13:38:00.000-07:00

Lies/Smoke

Lies/billowing smoke

and other occurrences

that leave only ash

Job Security

2009-09-08T12:06:00.000-07:00

Job Security

My sister came up to me and she said, that she had this handicapped guy who had a handicap sicker on his car pull out in front of her on 80 and apparently he did so poorly that she was like “Hey, I don’t care if you are handicap, just don’t drive like a retard.”

And I laughed but for a moment, I felt insecure. . .

Can anyone be a poet?

A Dead Atheist

2009-09-07T21:06:00.000-07:00

A recently dead, life long atheist was upset to find himself dead

and worse

to find a heaven filled with angels

and Mary

and Jesus

and his 12 dwarves

He took off his sandals

and walked the five minute to the dark edge of town

God was outside walking in his fields

and saw him pass

“Aram, where are you off to?”

“To hell, I guess. I didn’t buy this shit on earth and now that I know you exist

I think I hate you.”

“W. T. Fuck, Aram that was like a lifetime ago.

I made you to disbelieve,

now please, walk with me a while before you go,

I have so much I have been waiting to tell you.”

My First Poem in Spanish (wedo version)

2009-09-01T18:16:00.000-07:00

My First Poem in Spanish (wedo version)

U.S.A. Version

I was sitting

sipping coffee

when Iban her skin like toffee sat next to me and said to me

you look a little mad

Mad? Me, mad,

This is the best time I have had.

I was raise well by my mother and my dad,

so I am fine.

First Translation

Mi Prima Poeta en Espanol(poorly translated)

en Sabado

en Café (café- I thought this was brown)

Iban sentarse ultimo mio (proximo not ultimo, ultimo is last)

Dece (past tense and feminine, very, very feminine)

Tobias Porque estas molsto

mi face fell

Molesto Hell no amiga

I don’t know what you’ve heard

“mi familia estan bein” (past-tense estupido!)

mi vivo en mi case este contento”

No Molesto

Final Draft

Un Sabado

Iban se sentaba al lado mio en El café

Dijo, “?Tobias, Porque estas molesto?”

“Molesto, Hello no molesto!

Mi famillia fue Buena.

Mi Madre era maravillosa.

Nadie estaba molesto”

Ella Dijo

No Wedo, Molesto es, you say, angry

Ay! Molesto es Angry

Entonces estoy muy molesto

Voy a molestar a alguien, ahora mismo

El Fin

Analogy

2009-09-01T17:50:00.000-07:00

Analogy

The word green is to

tree, what moon is to haiku

They both almost rhyme

Ləv

2009-09-01T17:38:00.000-07:00

Ləv

I say the word. . .

occasionally (ambiguous- rewrite)

occasionally,

I say the word

It sounds different now but I know it is just me

It is me who is different, I mean

I hope

I will remember one day

both

how I used to say it

and how I say it now

Settling, Coming to Rest

2009-08-25T20:24:00.000-07:00

Settling, Coming to Rest

I write some poems in seconds

these I can hardly take credit for

like one who knocks over a piece of furniture

in the dark

This is an accidental sound poem

it comes to me

not the other way around

The little tremors

beneath you

I slid down from the wall

to the pillow

to join your deep breaths with mine

Your heart beats through your clothes

through your skin

as if it’s only wish was to jump into my body

I move to leave

and a smile, eyes closed

draws me back

to repeat these words

in my mind

They run through my body

on a track

like blood in veins

I tell you I love you

when you sleep

because I know you will hear me

When awake

we often hear only

what we want

A Simple Sort of Poem

2009-08-19T23:50:00.000-07:00

A Simple Sort of Poem

When I kiss you

I kiss my suffering

When I say your names softly I am saying mine

When I weep with you

I am also drunk off love

When I touch you

I touch that which I have dedicated the whole of my life

You are goodness’s daughter

You are the truth that calls to me

This book is not written for me

not really for you

but more for you than me

but for neither of us really

And now,

I don’t even remember the book of which we were speaking

A Sense of the Future

2009-08-15T13:34:00.000-07:00

A Sense of The Future from Tobin Johnston on Vimeo.

This short quotes from my poem "Noticeably"

Noticeably

2009-08-11T23:05:00.000-07:00

Noticeably

I got a fortune cookie with my pad thai

which was noticeably strange

it read-

someone you know is dying

because we all are

Life

2009-08-10T13:03:00.000-07:00

Life

"Next time someone starts to tell you about life, kick them in the balls"

-Abraham Lincoln

Life is like dropping your favorite coffee mug

the one shaped like some animal (you’d think cow, but you would be wrong, it was an owl)

and then cutting yourself in the process of cleaning up the broken bits

but the cut won’t stop bleeding

red inky blood

so you go to the doctor who smells a little like a liquor store

and a lot like your alcoholic grandfather

and he tells you that you have a rare blood disease

the one all the inbred European royally died from when they weren’t dying from the guillotine

and so you go home and your friend is reading Achewood on your computer after you told him he couldn’t use it

but he shows you this one where a robot is telling what looks like a otter (you know from those otter pops) that the saddest thing in the world is a retarded guy promising a broken egg that one day it will fly

and you are laughing and crying and you realize

you aren’t alone

your friend is laughing and crying too

I guess what I am trying to say is

9-12 was an inside job

Here is the link to prove it

A Field Redux for Video

2009-08-09T11:57:00.000-07:00

A Revelation Field from Tobin Johnston on Vimeo.

A Field Redux for Video

untie the ribbons that hold up this sky

cut the ropes

that tether us

leave this city

its pop-up book

panorama

the flattened

silhouettes of silhouettes

cross walks, car horn curses, daps and pounds, stoops and stairwells

DON’T STEP

rather,

throw yourself from the curb

let your

body

cast a shadow

and then fall into it

leave here

leave these streets

walk instead out into a vacant field

take only with you a fallen branch

the size of your hand

at a place of your choosing

force it into the ground

wait. . . wait there

for the wind to knock it over

then bury it in the earth,

digging against the dirt with your bare hands

trust the grass to overgrow the turned-over earth

and walk away

weeping

the stick is history

you are

God

A Field Original

2009-07-29T10:35:00.000-07:00

A Field

Walk out into a field

and take with you a fallen branch

at a place of your choosing

stick it into the ground

wait there for the wind to knock it over

then bury it in the earth,

trust the grass to overgrow the turned-over earth

and walk away weeping

the stick is history

you are God

Bite the Mouth that Feeds You

2009-07-26T22:04:00.001-07:00

Bite the Mouth that Feeds You

Scott Hone does cake sculptures

sculptures that look like cakes

When I saw this I wanted to stop writing

and flee from art altogether and get a job

as something else, maybe drive a tow-truck

you know

actually help someone

Adulteration and Enculturation

2009-07-25T22:34:00.000-07:00

Adulteration and Enculturation

coming out of my shell

getting out of my skull

and into my skin again

trying to watch the other kids to see what they do

and then trying to do what they do

I will try and not say anything too stupid today

I will not fight with the other boys, much

I will meet girl’s eyes with my own

God help the divorced

A Poem for My Brother and His Wife

2009-07-25T22:16:00.000-07:00

A Poem for My Brother and His Wife

There is a childishness in love

some couples will wrestle like kittens before sex

they will get drunk and talk in a tiny voice

they will shamelessly pout for attention even after years

and says things like “I miss you”

after five minutes apart

and mean it

A Lecture, Given by Jane Austin, is Repeatedly Interrupted by a Well-Read Russian of No Historical Importance

2009-07-17T11:11:00.000-07:00

A Lecture, Given by Jane Austin, is Repeatedly Interrupted

by a Well-Read Russian of No Historical Importance

Jane-

Then Emma thinks wrongly, you see, because her character is extremely precocious . . .

The Russian-

Excuse me Miss Austin,

let’s say you’re marring Kitty from that Tolstoy novel, or you are a student murdering the Pawnshop-inista with an ax? Was the ax handle was heavy in your hand this morning?

Jane-

Excuse me?

The Russian-

Do you take sugar with your coffee or do you drink it black? It paints your teeth mother of pearl either way, wouldn’t you say? And don’t get me started on proper Russian vodka.

Don’t worry Miss Austin, everybody comes out cool, except poor Annie, those who are to die by the hangman’s hand fear not water, ya. Forget those who were born for the rails, forget those illegitimates. . .

He drifts off into curses in Russian.

So what about love?

Jane says-

I’ve never been in love. I don’t know what it is. But I write it.

It resembles marriage closely, one that takes place between a honest English girl and a proper English gentleman. No other love than this one. No other love than this.

The Russian-

You see, miss Austin, the Russians, the God-damn Russians, write novels, novels that right Russians. It is the weather in Russia that is to blame, the God-damn weather.

It changes people like in a way similar to how Marx describes the aspects of production. Love in winter isn’t marriage and pastoral fields but a sort of bit-fingernail sanity and a dry spot where the roof doesn’t drip.

And redemption, here in Russia, is not secured position in society, but redemption is redemption, a threshold, a portal of spiritual climax. But here in the snow, the dreadful Russian snow, we wait, we wait through winter for the spring to step quietly from one room into an adjacent room, to depart from the cold and darkness.

Jane-

In England, our summers are spent waiting for two good characters to secure their happiness against the ridged social order, and the groom throws gold coins into the bridal party.

The Russian-

That sounds nice.

The Path of Most Resistance Revisited

2009-07-16T20:01:00.000-07:00

The Path of Most Resistance Revisited

What can I say I haven't said before

(Or perhaps then, I didn’t know what I was saying)

{No! That is not true. I meant that as much as this}

(But then I didn't know the now of now)