Friday, August 22, 2014

Poetry Post: On finding a bottle cap in the grass

It's not rusted.
It's not part of anyone's home, ant, grasshopper, worm.
The paint is only damaged at the one side, where
the crease from the opener has peeled it, poor quality, and
the shinier base shows through.
There's dirt though, but not enough, like was said,
to rust.
It's not anyone's brand that has ever lived here.
You know. You've always been here.

It's just an opening.  

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Ideas on a train

I'm riding home to my parents' house for a two week stint as housesitter. I'm traveling by train which is, if I'm honest, the best way to travel. On a train there's a sense of community that isn't present in other modes of travel.

Let me explain.

Road travel is an antagonistic exercise. Everyone is competing; we all have different destinations, yes, but our way of getting there is built on the idea of getting ahead of everyone else. Our car against theirs.

Air travel is somewhat communal. You're traveling with other people but you're discouraged from getting up and moving around. You can talk to your seatmate but even that is hampered by the excessive noise of the engines. And it's brief; unless you're flying overseas, your interactions are limited to a few short hours.

The train.

You're traveling in comfort. You have the advantage of being able to move from car to car. Meet someone in the observation car? Go and hang out in an empty seat near them or head to the dining car for a meal together. There is a flow from car to car. It's a community.

That is what I'm thinking about tonight: community and where I stand in it. Specifically, how I'm not taking advantage of the Chicago experience.

Another thing added to what I'm focusing on while at my parents' for the next few weeks.

Monday, July 28, 2014

This sky: A prose poem experiment

There isn't enough to see, this sky so drowned by light that the single points you want don't even shine through. Hate stepping outside and not, even at the deepest part of the night, even when the neighbors are gone and you can imagine that only the plants are here, the boards of the fence dissolved, the city only three blocks South faded, even then, not being able to see past the sky. It's an almost perfect uniform, a grey where perhaps the eye of Venus winks through at you, day star, devil, and the Northern sentinel is just a hint of ladle peaking out of soap scum water. You should see so much more, bands of liquid spill and animals chasing, warriors with bows and swords and clubs, individuality and scale. You should feel small.

You feel lonely.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Blank Page

She doesn't want me to try any longer.

I'm sitting at the computer,
from across the room,
she's doing that breathing.
It's really not much different from normal,
just a whistle at the end,
but it's enough.

She's angry.

Why do you have to write,
she asked once. And I wanted to ask
why do you have to breathe?
but knew that'd be another fight,
when I didn't mean it that way.

Maybe she heard me anyway;
the breathing started right after that.

It's “fuck you” breathing,
the kind where she's getting fed up,
my keyboard clicking away intermittently,
not enough where we're at
this stage,
but it's loud. I get that.

why do you have to write?

Why can't I? I want to ask,

and show her a blank page.

Getting back

I do one of these posts now and again, where I say I'm going to write more. But as part of my therapy this time, I'm going to actually do it. I'm writing a poem now and I'll post it in a little while.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

I think people can sense when someone's sad. This is especially true when a person is depressed. People can sense that. They don't want to be around it. They might not mean to, but they'll let that person just drift out of their lives. It's not worth the stress to them. And besides, that person has other friends.

But eventually, every person that person knows is thinking that.

Thursday, March 20, 2014


If anyone still reads this thing, it should be obvious by now that I suffer, quite frequently, from writer's block.

I'm fighting a bout of it again right now, along with the usual situational stuff that makes up the day to day life of Lincoln. But I'm going to try and do something about it this time. I'm going to try and sit down and write, even if it's just a few words, every day. Today, it was a poem. A bad one, but still, I got words on paper.

I know it's obvious. I know it's sort of basic advice. But you're not in my head and well, I'm going to try it for myself. It won't always be blogs. And most of it probably won't even be shared. But I'm going to try.

We'll see how this works.

Friday, February 21, 2014

Uncommonly uncomfortable

There are too many connections for all of us to make.

I just sat in this coffee shop, decidedly corporate, and tried desperately to fill out a job application. While I was eventually successful, it came at cost. I'm now jittery from too much sugar in my coffee, I still feel as though I don't have any forward motion, and I really, really want to get out of this coffee shop.

I also hate my new laptop.

Beside the point, I don't feel creative. Sure I'm out in a coffee shop, typing. But really, wasn't I just wasting time? I want to be creative and I can't concentrate here.

I'm on the verge of my second panic attack in as many weeks.

I'm just going to go home.

I need my own space, where I can actually work.

I can't find it.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Going North

On a train right now, headed to Milwaukee for a visit with my friend Liz. Not sure what we're going to do but it'll be nice to escape the city for the weekend.

We're off. Musical accompaniment by AC/DC.

Friday, February 14, 2014


So a lot of people out there, single, like myself, tend to dread this holiday. I'm usually no exception to this rule. It's hard for a single person to avoid reminders that they are, in fact, single. Every store you go into is decked out with pink and red, there are advertisements for jewelry and other romance related items around every corner, and the train is full of people holding hands, carrying balloons and flowers home, gifts from someone who cares.

And for part of the day today, I was fighting my emotions, wallowing in "poor me" self-pity and loneliness.

But why bother? Really, there's no good reason to wallow. If you're happy with yourself, he having another person around shouldn't matter.

And I'm getting a lot better at being happy with myself.

What's the rest of my weekend hold? Well, actually, quite a bit. Tomorrow morning I'm catching a train and going to visit a friend in Milwaukee. It's a short visit but I haven't seen her in ages so it'll be nice to catch up. I'm going to write and read as much as I can this week. I have books that I haven't started and I've had to stop myself from buying more. And I have at least one short story idea to get started on. So that's good.

For now, I guess I'll try to brainstorm a bit of poetry before I go pack and head to bed. Maybe just a haiku.

This entry isn't really worth publishing, but writing, even boring banal stuff like this, is good practice.