fromthemouthofmoi

Years before my dad died I asked him what kind of funeral did he wish to have. He said he wanted to be buried in a pine box. When he died, we got a pine box and had it delivered to the funeral home. It was the kind you had to assemble yourself, and we, all of his children, assembled it together. I noticed that the funeral director looked horrified and upset. He looked so distraught that I pulled him aside and asked him if this was normal in his eyes. He emphatically said: No.  I asked him what other people did -- this being my first funeral where details were on me, -- and asked him to show me what was normally done. He took me to a room filled with caskets that startled me. I felt like I was suddenly in a car showroom being told to step inside the Bentley I hadn't come to buy. None of the caskets were designed for the person expected to go into them. There was no casket for the life spent singing or dancing, painting or reading. Not one casket seemed suitable for those that h...

The last time I saw Jimmy he was a non-functioning human being. I stood in the doorway to his room after knocking, and opened the door a crack to relay some piece of insignificant information to him. In the 20 seconds the door remained cracked open I could see him in a fetal position on his bed, fully clothed on sheets that looked so dirty that I wondered how white sheets could be so black. I also saw that he had three TV trays lined up, with clean white towels spread across them, and an array of peyote buttons lined up on top, drying according to size. That was back in the 80's. Jimmy was gorgeous. You never saw a more handsome man. He had pale white skin, jet black shoulder-length hair, and the bluest eyes you ever saw. If he had a bit of facial stubble one might even say he sort of resembled Colin Farrell. He walked with a shuffle however claiming he had arthritis in his knees which I don't doubt he did. His teeth were yellow, -the colour of mustard- but they were as strai...

To those of you that read this blog I just wanted you to know that I am busy with other projects just now. This blog is not defunct, it's just laying low.

Then I was much younger than you I still had not learned to manage my hands Fingers were shoved into pockets Endlessly picking away at things My feet were both left My lust got caught in the headlights

When everyone points, protest When most people laugh, declare When people become silent, reiterate When someone denies, claim When trash is heaped high, assert If backs get turned, vow If all you find are deaf ears, repeat If the stance becomes threatening, maintain If they sit on a fence, stress If you find yourself frustrated, swear

I am driving down The Palisades Parkway and suddenly I am overwhelmed with the feeling of missing Simon terribly. I pull off at exit three and turn into Oak Tree Road. It is dusk when I arrive. I enter the house, but I am in Cushman and Alice's  old home. The house is filled with others that miss Simon too. Everyone is in corduroy, chambray and well worn leather shoes. I feel like I am home. Different people come to me to show me things they have, that remind them of Simon. One woman shows me a puzzle she has made and on it she has painted various animals in various scenes reminiscent of Christmas scene folk art. Another young man has a worn photo of Simon he shares with me. Everyone is drinking whisky from short wide glasses. I notice Tony and he comes over to me, and he is so warm. His body is toasty. He stands behind me embracing me. We then go sit in a huge chair like this: He behind me and me cradled in between his legs. He feels so warm. He rocks me, we talk about Sim...

All these years later Your eyes have returned To cast upon me a gaze I am older now And from whence I began I do not start I start with wounded knees And graying hair And a pocket full of irony I am told I must find my child And swaddle her with gold A precious thing, both her and me