fromthemouthofmoi

(L-R Craig Horton , Tom Boyd, unknown, Tano Ro , Sam Myers , Big Bob Deance .  Milano, Italy, October 6th, 1981. Photo rights to Tano Ro). Dear Daddy, Each year that passes since your death I've learned increasingly more about you as a man. Not as my father, but as a man, and I am coming to understand that you were one pretty wonderful dude. I recently received a letter from a man in Norway, Jan Erik Moe, who wrote to tell me of your influential impact upon his formative years and how much you meant to him. The letter was quite heartwarming, uplifting, inspiring and for me, a little bit sad. Jan had two memories of you that I share. He mentioned all the postcards he received from you over the years that had been written by hand, that I am sure where written with your Mont Blanc pen. That pen was a permanent fixture in your breast pocket and I have the fondest memories of your penmanship. It was beautiful; the blue black ink flowing freely and smoothly from the end o

When I went to Bide-A-Wee to adopt a cat, a place I had adopted from before, I picked out a large orange cat that looked to be about two years old. I went into the petting room to see if he was the cat for me and when we got into the room he spent most of his time exploring and very little time brushing against me. He was a beautiful cat and I decided to adopt him. When I went to the counter to pay the fee and fill out paperwork, the worker, without hesitation, said: I don't think you want this cat. The statement struck me as funny because I was at an adoption facility that was there solely to recycle animals to new owners. She removed a paper from the cats' file and reading from it, she said: This cat has been here for two years and has been adopted and returned three times. When I asked her why she said: Previous owners claimed that he meowed too much, scratched in the litter box excessively, wouldn't get off the bed and when you tried to get him off the bed he would atta

I have not had many lovers in my life. What is it that another person does that conveys love to me. Can I only feel love in one way? Has each of these lovers conveyed love to me in the same way? Did I show love in the same way or does each love present a new challenge of love to be taken? None of my lovers have any shared similarities except they were all artists of some kind. They have not had a similar look, nor a similar income. They have not been the same race nor have they shared physical attributes. And none of them have conveyed their love to me in the same way. Each of my relationships has had a moment in time when I knew I was loved; when I've felt loved. I knew P for possibly four years before we became intimate. We were traveling on a bus from San Francisco headed to Ashland, Oregon. It was winter and I was 17. P and I are both from New York though we did not meet there. I was with him because he had heard I was in a marriage that I didn't wish to be in and out o

You have a quality that I could feed from With seemingly little effort you pet me and I slow I feel like Miss Havisham. I wonder where Dickens found her? I feel stuck in time with a mouldy mind Wandering my house in the wee hours thinking I smell smoke I am barely here I am losing time I've lost time I flop into bed exhausted and Miss Havisham nags me until dawn The wailing has begun. It's raining in my head Years ago I cried so much I became dehydrated I don't know where I am in this cycle I don't know where I am in the week, or in my house If I could I would place you in a rocking chair by my bed I would make sure you had a window to watch the gloaming from I might ask you to read to me. I can't listen right now But the sound of your voice will wrap me in fur I will drift to sleep with eyes wide shut and I will owe this to you In all this dreariness please Accept my love

Merida, Yucatan, Mexico Dear Freda, It is going on five years that we have not spoken. I was overjoyed when you responded to my message last month regarding Billy's death. It was odd to learn of his death on Facebook rather than a call from you.Odd but understandable. His death brought back all of my own memories of Billy. I can still see him in his highchair grinning like the happiest person on earth. Or him scooting across the floor. My last memory of him is of him mowing your lawn and my jealousy and amazement that anyone could drive that mower. I had tried previously but that contraption was too much for me. If I recall I ran screaming from that mini tractor. He was so adept at so many things. And he was pretty much always in a good mood. But when he wasn't, I always liked that he said so and could put on quite a rant. I want you to know that I miss you too. I always refer to you as my best friend. The first time I referred to you that way, after our break-up, I st