The willing suspension of disbelief

The stars are clear out here. A train runs through the cen­tre a few times a day, blar­ing a horn as a warn­ing to peo­ple who may be going from build­ing to build­ing by cross­ing the tracks. It’s a tiny vil­lage in a snow­globe, only the snow has­n’t come.

I haven’t been around this many peo­ple in years. I’ve long won­dered what it’d be like to live this life one more time. To have rit­u­als and the­atre plans and reg­u­lar friends. None of this is real, of course, but I don’t mind pre­tend­ing if only for a lit­tle while.

girl in dorm room

Girlcave. Fucking awe­some.

Continue read­ing “The will­ing sus­pen­sion of dis­be­lief”…

this same flower that smiles today

I find myself resigned to some­one’s care. It’s not an easy kind of con­trol to relin­quish, but late­ly I trust as lit­tle as pos­si­ble in the future and do my best to go along for the ride. As the old poem goes; be wise, strain the wine, or as Zorba would put it, “DON’T BE DELICATE”. I did­n’t plan on liv­ing for­ev­er any­way.

On a cold night, we keep the only promise made, one of those small won­ders that still make me believe. I fit some­where between needs and wants, tem­po­rary relief and long-term side effects, class and home­work, nib­bled lips and bit­ten tongues.

in a field

 

Continue read­ing “this same flower that smiles today”…

a well-watered place

The fall is hold­ing out against the win­ter, trees clutch­ing bright leaves before the chill breaks their grips. It’s won­der­ful­ly warm among such colours, and we walk in the val­leys of Appalachia to take in the smell of moun­tain air as rus­tic hands around us work live­stock and soil. In old Aramaic, Damascus means “a well-watered place”, a fit­ting name as the rain soon grows too heavy to be explor­ing the tiny town, pop­u­la­tion 981.

looking over a bridge

 

Continue read­ing “a well-watered place”…

frame of mine

I’ve made peace with this body. It has­n’t been an easy peace to come by, as I seem to get con­stant reminders about the diminu­tive size of my stature. Most recent­ly, I met an old­er Chinese woman who admit­ted that she thought I looked sick and weak only after she dis­cov­ered I had col­i­tis. It was as if she thought col­i­tis caused some kind of mal­nu­tri­tion that stunt­ed my growth, and she did­n’t want to bring up the fact that I was this size because it would have been too embar­rass­ing unless it was caused by a med­ical con­di­tion.

Asian male self portrait

 

I’ve been deal­ing with all kinds of sim­i­lar com­ments since I was a kid, so when a girl­friend would say that she liked a par­tic­u­lar part or por­tion of my body, I always thought they were just blind­ed by love. Eventually I real­ized that if they could come to love this body, then I could too. It will nev­er look right in any­thing but slim-fit extra smalls from Mexx. It will nev­er be good enough for my par­ents. But it will always be who I am, and I’ve learned to accept that.

some day i'm gonna find it out

Over-stim­u­la­tion is a sling­shot moved by the force of com­pa­ny for the sake of self-dis­trac­tion.

cat in window

 

And yet I’ve nev­er felt so alone. The nights are filled with absence, which I try to mol­li­fy with indul­gence. It’s okay for now cause I know I’ll be okay some day, when it’ll be safe to be alone with my thoughts again.