my careless contagion

There is beauty in everything, even in endings, autumn reminds us. When we see the colors appear in the leaves, we say their color is changing. We say green is their normal color, but actually green is summer. Their true colors are revealed in fall when the chlorophyll drains away. What we see as a change is actually a revealing. What autumn means is we finally get to see what was under it all. In that way, fall is the most honest of seasons. Perhaps that is why I love it. Yes, it is that time again. Time for my annual ode to fall, my favorite season. I wish it wasn't so short in the Black Hills because the crispness of the air is intoxicating, though a bit unnerving because I know winter is not far away. I start to notice leaves changing in mid-August and by the end of the month, it's all around me. When September comes, the calendar says fall is still weeks away, but I know it's already here. There is a noticeable shift from one season to another, a moment when you realiz...

It’s August The sun shines brightly The wind blows soft and warm And reeks of summer’s fecundity What I know and what I knew Are strangers in the night I’m enraptured by make believe And outraged by reality Such is summer Some say August Is summer’s last gasp I say it feels like nothing I’m supposed to have thoughts Ideas and feelings But they left me Long before August I was supposed to be something Destined to be someone But all I wanted was love I would have run To the edge of the world for it It was never there No matter the season Now it’s late Far too late She’s gone and I am too As the song says Some things you can never get back Like the happiness in her voice Before whatever happened happened Long before August Long before now Writers write because They want to capture something Or someone Something they’re missing Or never even had But they want it back all the same I write because it is August All this time I felt I lost her But the truth is sadder She lost me Long before Au...

She went away, like a storm, or like a toy boat caught in the current of a stream. That's what I tell myself now. How or why doesn't matter anymore, only that she went away, and forever. She's gone. Irretrievable. Found her way to some distant sea. I don't know. All I know is she's gone, and I am still here. I wished and hoped she'd come back, but she never did. How did she move on? And so quickly? How did she run so fast so far so silently? Did I drive her away? Did I say something, do something, be something? I don't know. All I know is she left. Or was drawn away. All my attempts to draw her closer resounded pitifully and hollowly, like I was speaking to an empty forest or myself or a dark sky.  I hear her voice in the rain sometimes, in the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof. It's like she's still there, or just visiting, but I know it's only my imagination. I tell myself she's just checking in to see if I'm okay, and then I smile...

What if? Those are two of the most powerful words in the English language when put together. I held onto the above photo in case my "what if" came true. What if she did come back? She never did, of course, as this blog bears witness. But it got me thinking about the power of wishful thinking and what all of that means.  Wishing and hoping take place in the imagination, which is an often misunderstood and neglected part of brain. It's a beautiful place and sometimes a horrible place. It's whatever we want. We control it. Our will directs what we wish and hope for. It doesn't have to bear any resemblance to reality. And it has a power we do not fully understand. I believe everything human beings do begins right there in our imagination. Without it, we aren't human. We're robots or cattle or something. But even cattle probably imagine eating grass before they do it. Hey, how about some grass? What if I eat it? It would taste good. Let's do that. Let's...

The girl I loved chose to break things off with me nearly four years ago, for which I never blamed her. It was puzzling for a while, but eventually I worked through it. And she was right. She just wanted the best for herself and everyone else. We all want that. This post is an honest assessment of what happened and how I finally processed what occurred four years ago. My intention is to sketch the kind of man she chose — the man who chose her long ago.  Superman is a fictional character, but to that woman, the man she loves is a type of Superman. I settled on this, not only because it makes me look better because she chose him over me, but because it is the truth. I was blinded by my anger and had to let that go. It was a humbling process, but I believe that process is complete. So, let's do this, shall we? This is a sketch because I never knew the man, just what she told me about him. I'm sure it's all very accurate, as she is a precise human being with an exceptional memo...

Scottsbluff, Neb., is in a neat area of Western Nebraska. You have the cool rock formations, of course, but you also have Wildcat Hills State Recreation Area, which I've wanted to visit for years. You can just imagine the pioneers traveling through here to greater destinations out west, many perishing along the way. The place is rich in history, but I wonder how many stop and check it out as they fly by in their cars to some other place. I was in Scottsbluff Friday, March 12, but not to see the sights. And it was a beautiful and warm day in spite of the forecast for up to 40 inches of snow that weekend. But I wasn't just enjoying the weather.  I was there to get a new vehicle. (Yes, I've gone through a lot of vehicles lately, but my life is unstable in many ways.) There is a reason why my last four vehicles I decided to sell myself. ( Selling my vehicle this time seemed like a hassle I didn't need, so I went the quick route and did a KBB instant cash sale.)  Dealing wit...

  I should have known when I liked Hey Jealousy by the Gin Blossoms in high school it had a wickedly sad backstory. You can read some of that here , if you'd like (it involves alcoholism, just as the term gin blossoms also refers to alcoholism, oh, and suicide). Instead of delving into that, like I did a few years ago, let's just post the lyrics and say something like, "This is how I feel about a particular girl and the intervening years wasted without her." There, long post is now short. And then here are the lyrics. (Yeah, this is another unscheduled post. Can't plan everything, right?) Permit me a moment of nostalgia. I don't do this often (ha). But wasn't the music in the 90s a lot richer and varied? Maybe I just had a lot more time on my hands. The music industry, though never perfect, seemed a lot healthier then. But that was before Napster and all of that. Still, the 2000s (or, if you prefer, aughts) was like a polar opposite with the packaged bubbl...

It's always windy in Wyoming. It's always something but me and her, which is all I ever thought I would need. The weather is like a woman, and like a specific woman. It's never the same, but it's always there, reminding you that you live in her world; she does not live in yours. Like the wind, she tore past you, went through you, left you alone, wondering and waiting and lost. The weather changes quickly, and so did she when she went right through you. But, unlike the weather, she changed you, humbled you, and made you hers. Like the weather, she reminds you that you are almost insignificant, and she can warm you or chill you to the bone, but it isn't because she cares or does not. Like the weather, she is what she is. You prepare for her. She doesn't even notice you. The wind does not want or need or even know you are there. It does what it does. You can't even see the wind, but you know it is there. I wait for her to shine on me again, just like the sun on...

Where are the ups? They are, seemingly, nonexistent. At least for me. It seems other people have their ups. Maybe I chisel away at the ups because I know the downs will be worse if I experience the ups to their fullness. By protecting myself from the fullness of the ups, the great disparity between the ups and the downs is not felt. Something like that. Anyway, here are a couple memes that pretty much sum up this blog.  Any retrospective is bound to be cringe-worthy. This one is especially so. Just think, when I get to heaven, I can replay my life. Won't that be fun! I think I'll hide when they're doing that. Is there a fast-forward button? I'm praying for that. Anyway, one thing is sure; it will all be over soon. Sooner if I get my prayers answered.  Life doesn't make any sense unless you understand the spiritual battle, the cosmic chess match, so to speak. Read Job if you want to see how God antagonizes and plays with the devil, motivating him at will to do God...

  Sometimes I daydream about her. Oh, perhaps sometimes isn't the right word. I daydream about her often. She will never know the lovely things I conjure for us. She wouldn't understand anyway. I built a whole life for us there on the other side of the wall. The wall will always be there, but so will my dreams about her.  When you love a woman who is far away, somehow, some way, you find a way to be with her. It may seem like madness to some, but they live only on one side of the wall. Never do they cross over. Me, I'd like to live on the other side where the dreams live. My body is here, so I always have to come back.  Sometimes I see her walking with me. On a beach in the sun. On a sidewalk lit by streetlamp at twilight. Down the hallway to the bedroom. She is beautiful. And I am damned to eternal longing. She is gone, so far away, and I am lost in dreams. Sometimes, when I walk alone, I talk to her like she hears me. But she doesn't. No one is there to hear me. My h...

I love her with a love neither of us understands. It's an unrelenting, driving thing. How it exists without the object of its affection, I'll never know. She's gone, but my heart keeps loving her.  I can't explain. All I can say is it seems my heart searched for a woman like her, and when it found her, it didn't want to give her up. To me, she was the model of the perfect woman. I knew I'd never find another like her. Imagine my surprise when the very model of perfection walked back into my life!  Even though she's gone, my heart agreed to love her. It settled on her with a finality unlike anything I've seen.  She has moved on. She has left me here to weather the world without her. I don't know where her heart has wandered, but it is not with me. Perhaps it's gone back to a former love, perhaps on to another. Perhaps it's just hurting and waiting and hurting again — by itself, unable to love anyone.  This love I have for her will ...