December 6, 2016

so, um. Hey there, Jupiter. Are you gay? Are you blue?

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 1:56 am

I sang to the moon
and there was you
you sang bigger.
not to the moons. “Hey Jupiter…”
A false set to…
like the tug of a giant
on my icy equator
heat the ocean beneath
and I thought I would
not have to hide
from the pull of this riptide
King of Planets versus
the Middling Moon
and the ice cracks
while you hover in the distance
so far
so large
eclipse the stars
and there was you
while I sang to the moon
you circle around me
always in sight
always trying to pull me
past the edge of gravity
and there’s you
and there’s me
still orbiting.

December 4, 2016

the struggle is reality

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 2:59 am

it’s been two months without social media. aside from random,unplanned interactions, of course. tonight I’m eating something awful my parents brought me from Trader Joe’s and re-watching Ghost World, while also trying to come up with this blog post. I mistakenly published a different post first… ugh for that. I never realized the first time I watched Ghost World – just how awful these girls are. I did think they were a bit mean, but awful, never. In fact, I even thought these characters were cool. Admirable in a way. They had such withering distinction in the way they moved through their world. I can remember wanting to be *like* them. The sad travails of misstepping youth, yearning to be psuedo punk and proto-hipster cool. *yawn*
I finished painting my office. The disarray left by the person who was going to paint it is gone. I spent the day with my stepfather being very Bob Vila. Did you know my office is rife with ladybugs? How apropos is that?
The shingles are mostly better. I’ve got my beady little eyes set on someone. Let’s see how that goes.
In a little over a month I’ll be going to Italy and Greece. Alone. It’s rather terrifying and clarifying at the same time. TO visit places so steeped in my own personal mythology, in part because of the inherent mythology of the places themselves. I remember back in 1997 when this gay guy for whom I processed mortgage loans came back from his romantic vacation with his lover, to Italy, of course. It was a kind gesture of course. He knew how much I had always wanted to go, because, I told him so when I discovered he was going. So this is what he did: he stole a small piece of the Colisseum and brought it back. For me. I have no idea why. It was not like I mattered to him. But he still thought enough of me to commit an international crime. Imagine that. Yet I lost the gift. Who knows when or where. I can’t even remember what I did with it after he gave to me.
I suppose there’s a moral there. A reflection of some deeper truth about life. About my life. About classical art and the world at large. About the turning of time and civilization. About what comes next. About the effects we have on people and they upon us. About the things we’ve lost. THe things we never carried along.
But here I am. And there it went.
I think I missed it.

November 11, 2016

am I hard enough?

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 8:14 pm

as Trump ascends, I grapple. What does it mean to be an American? Is this the new struggle? Should there be violence in response? My initial inclination is, rather than violence and obstructionism, to let Trump be Trump. To let the Republicans fail after having given them the same freedom they denied President Obama. However, I am aware this will not teach the lesson they need, and they will accept any and all failures of their agenda as sabotage rather than intellectual deficit. So what to do? I have no idea.
Felix made a comment about Argentina receiving me, and I dreamed of it. How magical would that be? But I have things to do here in the US. And my heart is tilting towards something new. Plus I just bought house and joined the moneyed class of urban gentrification. How can I walk away from that? How indeed.
Sometimes I wonder if I am cold and soulless. Pathological maybe. Who knows. Perhaps I’m just being dramatic because I can.
I do know this: everyone who voted for Trump doesn’t hate me quite as much as I hate them.
That should change.

November 7, 2016

moments of grandeur

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 6:44 pm

tomorrow will decide so much. I will get to vote again for the first time in ten years. #excitement.
today I am thinking a lot about what it means to be patient in lust and love. to hold to memories and to want, but to wait. i am thinking about how i’m going to transition from now to next and what direction I want the transition to take.
and i’m thinking about cake. always cake.
i sometimes wonder if I would feel more profound if I were to write down more of what I say. Be pretentious and keep a moleskine with me all the time, and wander off to corners to scribble my so totally important musings for posterity.
does anyone else find it hard to concentrate when you see the waistband of a man’s underwear?
it’s not even a sexual thing really. whatever.
Ingrid Michaelson in NOLA @ House of Blues was incredible. Seriously. Go see her.
And scene.

November 4, 2016

something new

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 3:44 pm

so. Portland is amazing. Learned (re-learned?) some valuable life lessons. Physical attraction is so 1997. It goes only so far. Annoying, cloying affection never feels good unless it’s mutual. Shocking that I needed to have that nugget re-affirmed. Trust Maya, people. When someones tells you who they are…
No one reads this stuff anyway, so I can say shit. Anne was right. To a degree. Dating is fucking stupid. Agendas. Needs. Compability. Complements. Being sweet with disdain in your heart…. Ready to move on to something new.
Maintaining my distance from social media.
Hiding from you all.
Exploring the world.
Trying to find out what my next move will be. Shall I be a writer? A graduate level geek? A lawyer? A working stiff with a cute house and a needy cat?
Who the fuck knows.
I’m gonna see jonatha brooke in a few weeks and try the mack again. We’ll see how it goes.
Until then, edit Press for the umpteenth time, knowing it’ll never get read.
Because I’m disconnected and middling in my talents. At best.
And perhaps I’ll learn to be OK with that.
How the FUCK does David Sedaris find the time?

August 31, 2016

response poetry, because i can’t hurt you again

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 3:23 am

I find crazy in the fractals
those curves are smiles
when they touch
you turn them upside down
and the shape is the same
you find solace in the actual
those nerves are dials
when they spike
you turn them way way down
and the blame is an escape.
if we found today
it would cost tomorrow
kindness like the hit of meth
that ripped my asshole apart
don’t confuse the patterns
for sense
you’re better than what I’ve got
today we found if
tomorrow is to be a whisper
softness like the touch of breath
that clipped your whole apart
won’t abuse the tatters
a glimpse
of your Sarah can not stop
the defense

August 27, 2016

because sometimes you crush on the Internet.

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 9:31 pm

because i always wished someone
would say tell me
“i get the cheapest thrill
when you pop up in the
feed” my fingers to see again
think you’re the ugly one
see it again
everything is going on
around you kid
the only ugly thing is
seeing it again
and again
with just my fingers
you got music kid
i have words
we give cheap thrills
but when that shit
gets tied together
i swear
you won’t see ugly again

July 3, 2016

more love, please.

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 10:44 pm

Learning that heartbreak is much like recovering from addiction has given me rays of hope. As with the mis-wired centers of reward and pleasure-seeking which led me to my relationship with Rocky the Salty Shard, understanding something of the process – that I need more love, attention, hugs, and support; rather than pain, what-ifs, obsessive routines, and self-flagellation has helped me start towards feeling whole again. I’ve lost something incredibly precious, and I’m still nursing hopes it will come back to me like a forgotten Tori Amos song, a portmanteau of yesterday and tomorrow, something new which describes both. But I’m not standing still waiting for that. He said our love was a fantasy and that he no longer had love for me, there simply isn’t anywhere to go now with that. In all likelihood there never will be, but we met in the first place didn’t we? Stranger things have happened. Should the accretion of cause and effect triggers in the progression of the time-based universal interaction eventually push us back together, then, maybe we can move forward from there. If not, I will always hold a piece of myself for him, an unwritten poem in the shadows of my left ventricle, crouching, ready to pounce, completely hidden by its surroundings.
My fears that no one else will look at me with that storybook twinkle, that if someone does I will be unable, unwilling, or incapable of responding in kind have not been assuaged. Unlike my meth-tastrophe, this monkey is not going to go away. Not because it can’t, but because I’m not going to let it. See above metaphor about a the crouching thing in my heart. My own private, bloody Idaho. An Easter egg I’ll have to look very hard to find. A secret everyone knows.
In the meantime, more love. Please.

June 30, 2016


Filed under: about time — franklet @ 12:48 am

These things all mean so much
it is all about the climb
a search for words
within the hash of tags
and I go away to Westeros,
to the Neck,
my adjectives:
dorky, chunky, aggressive, and needy
of such things a knight is made
a man of jealous rage given a weapon
of photography
against my words
he asks him to climb
not me.
These lances are resolutions
to be splintered by force
pushing against the door
marked pull
β€œI am not a smart man”
but I know he doesn’t know
it is all about the climb
he will reach out
hold the ones and zeroes
in his hands
they will comfort… so
is your place in heaven
worth giving up
my kisses
such a clever exchange rate
love for hashtags.

June 28, 2016

the fever broke.

Filed under: about time — franklet @ 12:49 pm

something in me broke yesterday. i shifted through the last stage of grief during a run perhaps, I am not quite sure. What I realized is the truth behind what everyone (even him) told me: I’m incredible. I’m worth more than being broken because he is. It doesn’t change how I feel, I still love him. But I’ve let him go. Remarkably fast, if I say so myself. He didn’t put me first, and he should have. I hope he learns how to do that in the future. Being destructively beautiful doesn’t last, and cats only warm you so much. Surely in the months to come I’ll find another flip, where I decide he really was doing the best thing for me, because wonderful things will happen and being a sentient ape I will search for patterns in that noise. “Wow, he must have known X, Y, & Z were coming and realized that he was standing in the way! He’s so considerate.” *not impressed either, McKayla*
The world is opening up (it would have anyway, which is, of course the rub) and moments are flying towards me at a speed I will have to work to maintain. I’ve gotten very used, over the past 9 years, to a privation of choice. Limits, Frank. You may have A or B, nothing else. How I will manage the depth of what I need to face is an open question. But I’m not afraid. It’s one of the reasons I can’t understand why he did what he did. It seems a reflexive action done out of fear and I’m prison-tested against letting fear push me down.
Good luck, monito.
It’s something I don’t need. I’ll make my own.
Let’s do this. πŸ˜›

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