caveat exile

She lives near the top floor of the tall high-rise, in an apartment her friend once described derisively as "post-pubescent and pre-informed", words she now has tattooed in Victorian script above her left shoulder blade. The homeless man who watches her come and go from the post of his eternal vigil beside the mail drop box thinks of her as Asian, though she is half Puerto Rican and half American mixto. Her window high above the street is always open, symbolizing the endless opportunity funded for her by her wealthy parents, with whom she never speaks. "I am an artist," she lies, when people ask her what she does. Sometimes she throws pieces of bread out through the open window at the unsuspecting world below, but this wouldn't impress anyone as much as a fantasy of art might. Her only art is standing naked with her eyes closed and her arms upraised in front of the blast of harsh, angry guitar raging from her expensive music system, art her neighbors all hate because they only get to hear it, not see it. The music rouses something less dead in her soul, something almost alive, almost vital. It gives her the scraps of resolve she needs to throw on something revealing and head out past the homeless man to abuse herself around town, to let others have a go at her, to crawl home to the elevator that loves her. For her life is an apartment in an empty world, where she's not an artist, not even Asian. Death is like bread falling naked to the ravenous masses below, guitar music fading away far above.

Once I was the most conservative of conservatives, convinced of black and white and good and evil and heaven and hell. The journey out of that was not short nor was it easy, but it was a journey I had to take, even though it meant, in the end, losing even my religion, and I was more religious than you can possibly imagine. I left huge chunks of my personal identity, real parts of who I was, behind me, and it has taken a long time for me to become, if even I have yet, a whole person again.

People come out of religion and conservatism for many reasons. For me it was not about a desire for personal freedom, though I treasure the freedom I now feel. For me, the ideas and ideals and tenets of the identity into which I grew from childhood - an identity that was shaped by a situation and environment that, like all children, I did not choose - were always and increasingly at odds with what I have come to recognize as my own natural, organic idea, ideal and tenet: I believe that people, all of them, are valuable and good.

Though some of you might also believe this, I know that many of you do not. That's okay with me. I think people are allowed to be wrong. It doesn't lessen their value or their goodness, just their quality of life.

From first hearing him speak and reading his words several years ago, I saw in Barack Obama a kindred spirit. I believe he and I share that same faith, a faith in all of you, in all of us. I hope more and more people can come to believe.

He's not perfect in the traditional sense of the word, I've seen this myself. Nevertheless, I love him. And I love that people like us, fools though we may be, can win such victories in this world.

Hello, friends. How are you today? I'm great. I can't stop smiling.

Later. Love.

Sometimes, if you let all of your tiny, whiny thoughts simmer for too long, they boil into a simpering whimper of mediocre dysfunction. The full weight of their significance hardly tips a scale of juxtaposed nothingness, a bit of dust and air. When you're a small enough person with sufficiently finite concerns, however, the steam of their steeping and the incense of their burning can clear passages through which you now remember you used to breathe. It doesn't take much to turn the tiny tide. A touch. A laugh. The smell of evening in the morning. Walking sleepy, smiling through the strewing of what she wore yesterday.

And now there is the business of today. Perspective recommends laughing through the smaller duties of your life. In the end it comes to little enough to hold in your hand and blow, like pappi from a dandelion's clock, into the gently fumbling hands of fate.

Hello, friends. How are you today?

Love.

I just wanted to tell you guys about an exciting thing going on in my life. Why? Well, I guess so you could notice me and maybe leave me a congratulatory comment. I don't ask much out of life.

Here's the thing, though. Whatever it is that I tell you? It's not going to be true. I'm just going to make it up and pretend that it's true. It's going to be a lie, a lie I tell just so I have something to post. I want to tell you that up front so that if you ever find out it wasn't really true you won't get mad at me. Pretend, though, that it's true. Pretend it's really happening. Ready?

Yeah, so, I'm having a big art show at a local gallery. I'll be showing a few paintings, you know, no big deal. A few major art critics will be there, but there's no pressure because they all already are fans of my work. So, you know, it will be fun. It will be a good time. We might have drinks while we stand around. There will be snacks, fancy ones. I'd invite you, but it's such a popular affair that we've already filled the place. Sorry. I might save you a snack. I'll wrap it in a napkin and bring it home. Maybe a tiny shrimp and cheese quiche. Just stop by in the next day or two. It will be in the fridge.

Hello, friends.

Love.

Francie (Robyn's best friend) on top. Holly (my niece) in red. Robyn (my daughter) in purple. This picture is from Susan's (my wife's) graduation party on Saturday.

More here, if you're interested.

Hello, friends.

Love.

Night walks in, every evening, like it owns the place. There is different smoke in the air tonight, spicy and warm. Music taps everyone lightly in the chest. Everyone is looking past everyone else. Metal and glass chatter from behind the bar, bantering wetly about nothing in particular. Lights scattered about only color the darkness, adding glow to faces and shoulders. It's the kind of place where you will not find anything real. Even the line between dancing and standing is blurred in the dim. You might lose something, or you might make it out alive and whole, but there is nothing to gain. Contrast is not the point. Collective soul. Join. Breathe. Pulse. The sun cannot see you here.

I have an opinion about the mistakes Obama makes. I could be wrong, but I'm not. Here it is:

Obama, it seems to me, wants to believe everyone is essentially good. He cannot, therefore, just dismiss people who believe in things in which he does not believe. For many people it's very easy to just dismiss others as bad people, stupid people, "gun freaks", "religious wackos", etc... Obama, however, doesn't like to do that. He asks himself, "How can a good person believe that? What explains it?" Then, he comes up with an explanation. Then... and here's the mistake... he forgets himself and vocalizes that explanation in public. This is a mistake for a public figure for a couple of reasons. First of all, most people like the simple answers I listed above. Also, the people being explained are offended at an outsider's attempt to justify their existence. So, people raise a stink. Liberals accuse him of not hating conservatives enough. Conservatives accuse him of being elitist. Me? I like him, but I think this is a mistake that he makes.

Hello, friends.

Love.