I use two knives to do everything in the kitchen
because that was how I was trained
by a Haitian man from Queens
who made millions of dollars on Gumbo
For every new garment in my closet
another garment has to go
that's my rule
it's how I would run
government and taxes
if I was in charge of that
smaller closets are better
just like governments
My favorite way to sleep
is under quilts my grandmothers made
I love how I feel cradled by their hands
long after their deaths
long after I am a grown man
I let myself feel protected by them
I miss their crooked fingers
their sturdy kisses
the way they cooked meat
Life has never been this simple for me
this deliberate
spacious
and clean
there was so much about living
I just had to test
so many things I believed in
but wouldn't you know it
my Great-Grandpa had a secret girlfriend
a secret we know about
four generations later
It's best to keep it simple
best to keep it clean
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
Monday, April 9, 2018
The Day
It can always be better
and it can always be worse
Tri tip
a martini
nude woman
wood
blue balls
breathy kisses
stinking dog
eight hours of construction
more sun on my face
sawdust in my lungs
everything is a little better now
but everything is fragile
I don't feel fragile though
not anymore
leave that shit
to some other sucker
It can always be better
it can always be worse
Kill
It's about a return
to the sand and grasses
the thorns and blood and ticks
the hidden fields off trail
where dozens of butterflies live
Raven black with the blue of jewels
like almost being allowed to re-enter Eden
It's about the stillness
hiding with a weapon
until your human clumsiness is forgotten
and all the creatures return
hawks in love circling
just twenty feet above
I saw my prey a few times
but not enough for a good shot
the sun made me tired
on the long hike out of the fields
I ate old trail mix
because I was very hungry
and with my unloaded gun
resting on my shoulder
I had the peace inside of me
of love and forgiveness
the peace of a slow and mighty river
to the sand and grasses
the thorns and blood and ticks
the hidden fields off trail
where dozens of butterflies live
Raven black with the blue of jewels
like almost being allowed to re-enter Eden
It's about the stillness
hiding with a weapon
until your human clumsiness is forgotten
and all the creatures return
hawks in love circling
just twenty feet above
I saw my prey a few times
but not enough for a good shot
the sun made me tired
on the long hike out of the fields
I ate old trail mix
because I was very hungry
and with my unloaded gun
resting on my shoulder
I had the peace inside of me
of love and forgiveness
the peace of a slow and mighty river
Saturday, April 7, 2018
The Center of a Man
This hurts
today there is nobody to share with
I don't know how to be so inspired by little things
at an age where everyone has grown out of that
or had it pushed out through obedience
A simple breeze through leaves
still feels like a temple to me
I count the folds of plastic
in the front of a shotgun shell
I forget how to spell Karen
and paint with oil
to trade speed for alchemy
I have learned patience
My tribe has scattered
every last one of them
so I will go to Wal-Mart to buy camouflage
and tomorrow I'll hunt for the center of myself
down the barrel of a shotgun
pointed at a wild turkey
with another man who's tribe scattered
I will be in my feral center
that only I can hold
this instinctual core
that my culture would see me surrender
But I can't
it's where all the beautiful things
I've ever had
get created and destroyed
Where I make art
where I take risks
where I can kill an animal to eat
where I make love
and where I apply a blood choke
The center of a man
is a little big bang of violence and creation
Without it many would go hungry
and the babies would be too cold in the winter
Somebody always has to break the ground
and I'm sorry it's so hard for me to be sorry
today there is nobody to share with
I don't know how to be so inspired by little things
at an age where everyone has grown out of that
or had it pushed out through obedience
A simple breeze through leaves
still feels like a temple to me
I count the folds of plastic
in the front of a shotgun shell
I forget how to spell Karen
and paint with oil
to trade speed for alchemy
I have learned patience
My tribe has scattered
every last one of them
so I will go to Wal-Mart to buy camouflage
and tomorrow I'll hunt for the center of myself
down the barrel of a shotgun
pointed at a wild turkey
with another man who's tribe scattered
I will be in my feral center
that only I can hold
this instinctual core
that my culture would see me surrender
But I can't
it's where all the beautiful things
I've ever had
get created and destroyed
Where I make art
where I take risks
where I can kill an animal to eat
where I make love
and where I apply a blood choke
The center of a man
is a little big bang of violence and creation
Without it many would go hungry
and the babies would be too cold in the winter
Somebody always has to break the ground
and I'm sorry it's so hard for me to be sorry
Loss
In life
in these waterfalls of frailty and pain
there is the nearly unbearable responsibility
of lacing these boots
there's the heavy load of concrete
how it always breaks apart
the searing image in the mirror
the way it distorts everything
this pain beating in my chest
it's the undeniable countdown of heartbeats
the quickening of the rain
all the impermanence
all the hope, it's either noble or futile
Regardless
I will hang onto it like dental floss
I'll tightly grip it
the memories
of the softest whispers
the brightest eyes
but here and now there's only this windshield
an empty truck
a country song
about lost love that should have been
songs of regret
songs of wishing for better men.
in these waterfalls of frailty and pain
there is the nearly unbearable responsibility
of lacing these boots
there's the heavy load of concrete
how it always breaks apart
the searing image in the mirror
the way it distorts everything
this pain beating in my chest
it's the undeniable countdown of heartbeats
the quickening of the rain
all the impermanence
all the hope, it's either noble or futile
Regardless
I will hang onto it like dental floss
I'll tightly grip it
the memories
of the softest whispers
the brightest eyes
but here and now there's only this windshield
an empty truck
a country song
about lost love that should have been
songs of regret
songs of wishing for better men.
Don't
Don't try to bring me to ruin
well you won't
but don't try
You'll fail
I will rebuild
over and over
until I can't breathe
My organs should have failed
but they didn't
because I willed them not to
my will is stronger than oxygen
that's who I am
in my heart
a man
who will die
only when he wants to
well you won't
but don't try
You'll fail
I will rebuild
over and over
until I can't breathe
My organs should have failed
but they didn't
because I willed them not to
my will is stronger than oxygen
that's who I am
in my heart
a man
who will die
only when he wants to
Friday, September 16, 2016
Cut the Intro: Episode 1
My brother Brian and I just published our first podcast. We have other episodes in the hopper and our excuse to talk each other about a million things is that we talk about good stuff to see on the streaming services like Netflix.
http://www.podcasts.com/download/cut-the-intro-d98040d08/Episode-1-ac02
It's so much fun. He's in Idaho, I'm in Magalia. I'm just impressed that we got over that hump. This whole thing was more work than I thought it would be but we're stoked for our Binyon brother creative project.
http://www.podcasts.com/download/cut-the-intro-d98040d08/Episode-1-ac02
It's so much fun. He's in Idaho, I'm in Magalia. I'm just impressed that we got over that hump. This whole thing was more work than I thought it would be but we're stoked for our Binyon brother creative project.
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