1 AM by Sierra DeMulder

Sierra Demulder performs "1:00 AM" at the Macalester Slam

"I cannot catch you.
I can barely stand to watch you fall."

Rainy Season - Day 7

Four men.  Two bottles of rum.  Six hours.  Countless stories.  This might be the closest to true Caribbean I'll ever see in Belize.  All we need now is a cricket game, but don't think the weather will cooperate.

Yo ho, yo ho.  A sea chanty in the chanty town.

Rainy Season - Day 6

Woke up this morning to a completely silent house.  The rain had lulled everyone to sleep, even the dogs.  Even the birds outside.  Even the frogs had gotten their fill of singing and dancing.  I pictured them drunk in the drains, huddled in the mud with their squashed, groggy faces.  Sticky tongues only reaching out every so often to test the air for signs of rain.   Yup.  Still there.

I don't blame them.

All the doors in the house were closed too, including the room now occupied by my roommate and, at least this morning, his girlfriend.  We've got somewhere to be in half an hour.  I don't even hear them stir.  In my mind I can see through the door.  I can see the two of them piled like laundry on that tiny bed.  I can see them occasionally rolling like the clouds outside.  I thought about locking, but then thought, 'let them have it.'  Everyone deserves a morning like that every once in a while.  Everyone should get to enjoy a little together weather.

I don't blame them.

Now these two are something else.  A grown man, almost.  Only a few years younger than myself.  Same for her.  But both playing like children, getting each other soaked and making the rain feel a-fool.  I wanted to ask just how old he was, as if making sure, when I saw him open the door a crack and fire three or four shots from a squirt gun.  Then, still grinning, he closed it behind him and put his weight against it.  A moment later she, his playmate with a face full as the moon and a smile like sunlight on droplets on forest leaves, bursts through the door.  I don't need my imagination to see the wells at her shirt-front and and her swollen pants back.  All soaked.  All clinging closely to dull copper skin.  I see her hips and her thighs and the rest of her curves rolling like those hills down south.  Down...south....

Yeah, go deh bwai.  Squirt away.  Splash and spill and spray away.  Whatever will get her wet.  Pull her hair, and lock the door.  Whatever you can do to drive her crazy.  Whatever you can do to make her scream your name.  Go deh bwai.  Go deh strong.

I don't blame you.

Rainy Season - Day 5

Its only been five days and already I can feel the rain on the inside of my skull, making my head soft and moldy.  I'm tired of spending all day with the sound of rain in my ears.  Sure, it was nice at first.  I was thirsty at first!  Now everytime i hear the rain, everytime i realize I can't go outside without an umbrella or closed to shoes, every time my head gets wet or I wake up dreaming of waterfalls and really needing to piss, I just want to scream.  Scream like rape and murder so that people come looking for me.  Maybe they'll bring an umbrella.  Maybe they'll bring back the sun.

Listen to it?  Plink! Plonk! Plat-Plat-Plat!  I haven't been thirsty for days.  Rahtid.

I had to get out of the house today.  I had to get out of the city!  The water rushes through the drains and once, when I was a child, I would be riding in them like a luge of morass.  But right now, I'm old.  Still young by some measure, but I don't like the way it makes my knees feel.  I don't even want to take a walk in  the rain the way i would do when I was only a little bit younger.  Damn city too small for a city.  Damn trees and shrubs too happy to hear from the long absent rain.  Damn sidewalks that feel like I'm walking on rotten vegetables.

I'd drive, but I'm afraid of the wet road.  Instead, i think I'll put my life in someone else's hands.  And while someone else drives, i'll watch the sky.  Just drive.  When the clouds stop looking like tarnished silver and start looking like something i'd like to scoop up in my hand and press into my mouth, then we can stop.  And we can make grass angels.  And count bugs.  And dread going back to the rain.

New Favorites

Lets count Summer Edward as a new favorite, Shall we?  In fact, while we're at it, lets toss a nod to Danielle Boodoo- Fortuné.  Gonna be keeping an eye out for these ladies.  You all should too.

Truth or Bukut

So...last night was interesting. Very educational.  Very revealing.  I may have made an ass of myself.  That's nothing new.  I think I admitted something I shouldn't have.  Something that was pretty obvious for the world to see but should have simply gone unsaid.  At least I think so.

I think so.  I don't know so, and I'm still not entirely convinced, that is, that I believe so.  The tension is out in the air now.  It may not have been the ideal method, but its out there.  I've admitted to Her that....  Anyway, its out there.  So why is it so difficult to move forward from that?  Cuz I'm a big fat scaredy cat, that's why.  Its a bit cliche, perhaps,  but I have the feeling that this might change everything.  We won't feel as comfortable talking about the stupid shit that we usually do.  We'll perhaps take one another a little too seriously.  Feelings.  That's what's on the line here.  That's what's bound to get hurt. 

So i tried bringing it up.  Online.  Not my favorite method.  God knows I know better than to try and express myself in live text chat.  Something like this needs to be communicated face to face.  Completely with pauses that aren't simply from 'Got up to get a glass of water'.  Complete with information that can be expressed only in glances, and in faces.  Faces that don't consist of a colon or semi-colon, that is.  And...perhaps culminating in some wordless expression.  Something physical.  Maybe a...

She laughed it off mostly.  Changed the subject.  Then went off-line for a couple hours.  Should I try it again?  Should I push the issue?  Should i ask for face-time instead?

Should I even be pursuing this?

I'd already decided not to.  I'd already decided that whatever this is had met its ending.  But...what if there's a chance?  I'd been doing some thinking and...I have to do a bit more.  I have to give a name to this.  Does my physical attraction outweigh my personal connection to Her?   Do I want to touch her skin and feel her warmth?  Or do I want to be the one that makes her warm?  Am I okay with just doing the latter, like i do now?  If I eat this cake, will I be full?  And for how long?

Things that I would say to you

Its so heavy.  My reality is so heavy right now.  I'm weighted.  Weighed down.  I feel like I'll never fly.  I feel like I'll never get to where you need me to be.  I feel like you'll never understand that. 

I've smoked all the cigarettes I had in the house.  Most were broken.  Some were wet.  All were your brand.  I don't smoke.  I don't have a brand.  You're my brand.

Don't roll your eyes.  I'm allowed to miss you.  I don't care what you have to say about it.  It was real to me.  It was worth waiting.  I didn't do all those things all those years to make you love me.  I did them because I loved you.  I love you.  I miss you.  I can't turn it off.

God I wish I could turn it off.

I've been trying.  I've been trying to replace you.  If I were any good at it, though, I wouldn't be drinking alone right now, smoking your cigarettes.  With your lighter.

I used to look up at the sky and imagine you, across the sea, looking up at the same sky.  I know you weren't now.  I know you're not.  You're fast asleep.  Probably in someone else's arms.  Am i really that easy to get over?

A million, billion stars.  I'm the only one looking up.

So back to this person.  This replacement.  She's not a replacement.  That is, she can't ever really be.  Too many bad habits that we don't share in common.  Except for one: living in the past.  Of all the things we share in common I wish we didn't share that.  I see her doing things I've been doing for a year now.  Its been several years for her.  How can I be with someone that makes me think of you?  Besides, it wouldn't be fair.  Not to her.  Not to me.

And not to you.  A good part of it is to get back at you.  Its someone you don't like.  But...that's a long list, aint it?

I'm sorry.  That was me being an asshole.  But really, you have to do something about your hatred for other women.  That can't be healthy.

And why do I even want anyone anyway?  Because you have someone?  Because I want to get back at you?  Because I'm horny as hell?  I don't need to like someone for any of those.  I've had the opportunity for something meaningless.  That's not what I want.

I just...I want to kiss someone.  I want to know that I'm still worth the emotional investment.  Not just to you, but to anyone.  And I want to know that I haven't lost the one.  That I can get by.  That I can recover and keep moving.  That there's something after this.

Shut up.  Don't say anything.  Just sit there.  Drink this.  Smoke this.  Just...be here.  Listen to this song. 

There's a shadow beneath the sea
There's a shadow between you and me
I've learned that love is scared of light
Thousand seeds from a flower
Blowing through the night

See?  Its about us. 

Your blackened kiss on my cheek
Your blackened kiss runs river deep
A stranded fish dear, i'm on the sand
Blue water from a pool
Up to the clouds i'll land

I'd really like to kiss someone.  Fuck, I'll settle for someone resting their head on my chest.  You've ruined me. 

Though i am dark 'bout the whys of wanting
Though i am dark, i'm still a child
Gonna dig a coal mine, climb down deep inside
Where my shadow's got one place to go
One place to hide.

Its such a relief to know you'll never read this.

Fuck This Movie

The Time Traveller's Wife - Meeting Alba

Fuck this Movie.  Fuck it in its mouth!

Filmbelize: Belize Film Festival Is Coming, Submit Your Work, You May Be A Winner

Filmbelize: Belize Film Festival Is Coming, Submit Your Work, You May Be A Winner

I gotta tell my peeps about this. Ooh! I gotta get writing! Must be a short story I can convert. Hmmm....

There's more to this, but I'm not ready to talk about it yet.

Horus is outside.  I call him Horus.  He's really just this crazy guy that walks around in an unbuttoned dress shirt with a bad head and bushy beard. But i call him Horus because he's got this perpetual sunburn And he talks to himself like a man who's been in the desert too long.  Or spends his days staring, naked-eyed, into the sun.

He's downstairs, squinting at my window (Dear god, can he see me?)  twirling his fingers around one another the way the universe circles the earth.  He's muttering his treatise.

This is why I need a camera.

We are Both Trembling Things

mojgani: 30/30, two

Damn.  People seem to enjoy my poems.  Invariably, these people are my friends so it sort of makes their opinions...questionable.  If they didn't know me; If I were, perhaps, just some random guy who happened to pass them a poem on a napkin, what would they think of it then?

Call me a wild thing. I run sometimes. Sometimes I sleep
beneath the ancient tree. My belly is softer than my back.
There are things inside of me that are overgrown with blackberries.
They are plump with the sun, ready to stain the fingers.
There is a room where a woman with a loom weaves.
She is making a fabric white as skin. The light passes through it.
Her body is like lace. The light passes through it.
Its corners curl into shapes and beautiful patterns.
She lays herself before me on top the table
and places my teacup on to her chest.
They are both trembling things.
She covers her body with teacups.
I lay at her feet.
We are both trembling things.

I don't know Anis Mojgani.  I never shook his hand or teased him about his height.  I've never dismissed the snarks of homophobes while embracing him, man to man, in a crowded restaurant.  We are not friends.  But I'd like to be.  I'd like to meet Anis Mojgani the way some people would like to hang out backstage with their favorite musicians.  This man is my rock star.  I hear he hangs out at the Bowery Poetry Club.  Last time I was in New York I went out in search of it, only to get lost and give up hope.  And just as we were about to descend down into another subway terminal I look up...and there it is.  Right across the street.

Next time, I'll be able to find it a lot easier.  Maybe they'll have an open mic night or something.  Maybe I'll read.  Maybe Anis Mojgani will be in the crowd.  Maybe he'll clap.

That'd be awesome.

Buss Up Yuh Melon!

A friend of mine asked me today 'How do you fall in love?'

Now, lets not get into how she decided i was somehow some expert on love, or falling into love, or even being able to express what that whole deal is like.  Lets just pretend that I'm not that fucked up.  That people can ask me questions.  Lets pretend that I know what the fuck I'm talking about.

Her: How do you fall in love?
Me:  Head first.

"Seriously, the answer is always head first.  Sometimes your walking along, quite cool, quite calm, and all of a sudden your foot hits something and BAM!  You're falling, head first, sprawling out, buss up yuh melon!  That's when you stop seeing straight and start talking all fool-fool!

"And then, sometimes, you stand there and you have to psyche yourself into it.  You stand there thinking 'Okay.  This is it.  I'm gonna fall.  I'm gonna lift my feet up and point my head at the ground.  I'm gonna break my neck.  I'm gonna knock out all my teeth.  I'm gonna eat so much sand and I'm gonna do it all on purpose because that's what love is.'

"Of course, this is hardly a pleasant prospect for any sane person.  But, remember, you're not sane.  You're considering falling in love, which means you're already thinkin' all fool-fool."

The XX - Shelter

The xx :: Shelter

Just heard these guys today on an NPR Live Concerts program.  This is, officially, my favorite song for right now.  Gonna work on getting the album tomorrow.  For now, come sit on the floor with me.  We won't talk.  We won't do anything.  Just listen.

Mash Up di Vibes

I thought of kissing Her. One second we were looking for kittens and the wind blew her hair into my face. Across my scalp. I felt myself tingle with a sudden realization of her beauty.

The next, we were standing, talking, and I was staring at her lips. Thin, fine lips. I've never kissed thin lips like that. They might be nice, I thought. See the way they form curlicues when She smiles? See the way She presses them together. See the way She occasionally moistens them, as if keeping them ready. Just in case. Our wide, unrestrained smiles might be good together. Pressed together. Held together.

One second I'm taking her home, and she says "I'm not quite ready yet. Lets drive around for a bit. See what we find." And I'm thinking: This is a beginning. I know beginnings. This is one of them. This is a turning point. This is where new things happen. I should know. I am the Fool. I have a close tie to the new. The ever-changing. And I have elation in my head. And I am dancing on the precipice. And I have her lips in my sights.

The next second....She's answering her phone. She is plaintive. She is patient. She is sad. She is uncomfortable. She is saying things like 'I'm on my way home' and 'I don't know' and 'Me too' and 'I'll ask' and 'I said I'll ask.'

Ask what?

"Andre, can you take me to--"

"No." I say. I am not thinking of her lips anymore. "I don't think that's a good idea."  I am thinking of who I know at that address.  No one.  But it must be someone.  "I'll just take you home."

"...Yeah." She says. She sounds disappointed. Her lips aren't as pretty when she frowns.  We are silent.  I am filling in the spaces in her conversation.  Me too.  I'll ask. The next moment she is gathering her things.  Her phone.  She is stepping out of the car.  She waves, disappointed, and as I'm about to say something she puts the phone to her ear and opens her gate.

This is an ending. I know endings. I am the Fool.

What have I learned today?

"Silence is not a natural environment for stories. They need words. Without them they grow pale, sicken and die. And then they haunt you."

From The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield

Full disclosure from here on out. Can't stand to be haunted. Besides, who's reading that would be offended?

Besides. I get to be selfish. At least here. This...is for me.