Are you Angry or are you Boring?

These confrontational words greet visitors to the Gilbert and George exhibit at the DeYoung museum. While I strive to be neither, I came away feeling it is better to be angry than boring. I guess I took "angry" to mean "passionate--" as G & G are passionately anti-war, pro-youth, and pro-sex, among other interesting things. We all should be moved by something.

And what does this have to do with anything, you ask?

Well, it sounds cheesy, but I am passionate about life. And the stuff of real life is where I have found my writing material. So far, anyway. This is my first venture into blogdom, and I hope you enjoy the pieces. I'll start off with a couple poems. (Don't worry, the poems are all short.) I welcome your comments. Go get angry, everyone!


Night Stalk(er) July 2007

The sunflower woke me up at 3 this morning.
A voyeur on my desk; its imploring face was bowed,
one large brown eye looking at me.
I don’t even like the color yellow, but
I love this brazen creature.
I have to touch it-- there are so many delightful textures.
My fingers run up the taut and hairy spine, and then
stroke baby-skinned saffron petals.
The beckoning brown center begins as innocently fuzzy.
But the very middle is a stickiness, transparent globs on a velvet carpet. I poke it again and again
and the stick won’t go away.
Finally I press my face into my silent spy.
The smell is raw springtime: new grass and bee sex.
I love the sunflower, and I half wish it gone.
It is too bright for this room
and my mood.
I can’t sleep with it staring.
Guess I have to touch it
again and
again.



Tuolome River August 2006


We walk along in the sweat sucking heat;

thin air pushes against our tired hearts.

A river seeks us

and we hear it soon-- waiting.

Then it appears--

a sinuous, porcine animal

continually diving downwards.

By a glassy pool

we remove our clothes

and I suddenly I am afraid.

Why? To experience fierce cool is why we came.

Ankles in, I feel ice dragons bite at my bones.

How can water hurt so much?

I retreat, and sensation leaks back down my legs.

A small, deep copper pool offers full immersion.

I jump in, and the scream escaping my throat is

sucked back, and all my organs

quail inwards for core warmth.

In two seconds I experience a year of broken crystal in every pore; it is

terrible and amazing to be consumed by this beautiful creature.

I flee the artic maw, and grab my forehead


to ease the external ice cream headache.

My limbs find warm granite,

and they kindly lower my torso.

Sun thaws my marrow

and I am simultaneously

tranquilized

energized.

Back in my body,

I watch the liquid shards

drip from my hair and realize

I am finally

violently

Alive.