Josh Writes a Blog

A Life Blog about My Life, Dawg

  • 004p: stickums

    bright vibrant colors on thin squares
    –we draft notes in thick black ink
    upon your waifish pulpy paper hairs,
    bold medallions of what we think
    in languid moments of lucidity,
    between the mulchy drone of living,
    acting with intense perfidity
    to feign a penchant for forgiving
    errant thoughts among the turbulence
    of being alive. each thought a lesson
    brought to you by the letter C,
    the number 6, the papal blessing,
    a twine-bundled copse of sage set free
    with fire and oxygen and astronomy.
          we write this on you, you see.

  • 003p: kissed

    i was staring out
    at the brilliant
    orange sunrise when
    i realized i hadn’t
    been kissed in a
    very long time.
    suddenly the dryness
    across my lips
    felt more potent.
    time flies when
    you’re depressed.
    next thing you know
    it’s 2018 and
    you glance back
    at the hole you’ve
    been climbing out
    of. you imagined
    several feet but
    it’s just a couple.
    and then, like when
    you remember you
    have a thick,
    muscley tongue
    in your mouth,
    i remembered the
    press of soft lips
    against my own,
    the half-open mouth
    and awkward angling
    of two protruding
    noses. the innocent
    occasional clacking
    of front teeth.
    the laughter.
    the moment in-between
    when you lock eyes
    and share each other.
    i realized i
    missed that.
    i felt embarrased
    by it, like i didn’t
    deserve it. tried
    to shake it off.
    failed.
    the sunrise is just sun now.

  • 002p: broke lament

    they say
    “trust your gut”
    and
    “travel more”
    and
    “follow your heart”
    these people
    born from coffers
    of money.
    they say
    “take risks”
    from a trapeze
    over a safety net,
    each failure
    a tumble
    into waiting arms,
    a brief respite
    into a savings
    account,
    or a desperate
    phone call
    to a parent.
    they get jobs
    to see what
    it’s like
    to be people,
    and quit as soon
    as it’s hard.
    they wonder why
    you’re always broke.
    no–
    not they–
    you
    always wonder
    why you’re broke.
    & it’s because
    you never had
    money to begin with.

  • garden bar 1.2.18

    The year begins
    With the ebb and flow
    Of a headache.
    I keep watching people from the bleachers
    And glance away when they spot me spying.
    A woman whose butt I admired
    As she walked away has returned,
    Seeking a seat in the same bleachers
    I’m sitting at. (I couldn’t help it,
    It was the jeans. It’s always the jeans.)
    Every woman is wearing riding boots,
    Well dressed equestrianesses.
    Some guy looks like my friend Ryan King
    If he had a Hitler mustache.
    I should make sure it’s not him.

  • 001p: i went for a run this morning.

    i went for a run this morning.
    the cold air bit at my fingers
    like windy piranhas, my breath
    labored like 19th century coal miners.
    a lot of it was walked.
    watched the artificial time
    switch to midnight, the first morning
    of the new year, then promptly
    went to sleep. no alcohol,
    no friends, no parties.
    a classic end to a baseline year.
    this morning, a run.

    there is a hidden well where
    my resolve resides, a secret cavern
    in my own body. i search for it
    every two weeks with my therapist,
    but it is elusive. it rests and feeds
    in fits and spurts. but it’s there.
    it’s somewhere. and it finds me.
    and it wrests lethargy and sloth from me,
    and into my bloodstream it injects
    a force of movement
    that circulates for a few days
    before subsiding.
    that’s why i need to find it, so
    i can squeeze the life out of it
    and into me, forever, and feel better,
    forever. but that’s not how life works.
    i went for a run this morning.

  • 2017 state of things

    Hello hello hello.

    2017 has been a shit year for the world. Thankfully we have Facebooks and Twitters and Tumblrs and all sorts of social media that you can reference regarding that particular breakdown of our country’s fundamental governing. This is my blog, so of course I will talk about myself.

    For me 2017 has been more mediocre and lacking in ambition than anything else. There have been some high points: I was in a play, the first legitimate paying gig in like three years. It was a lean cut of Shakespeare’s Troilus & Cressida, done at Lone Fir Cemetery here in Portland, by Portland Actors Ensemble. We had a great cast and an equally great run, and I am thoroughly proud of the production and the people within it. It, for a brief moment, sparked a renewed passion to act again, though to be honest that spark has since dwindled, for reasons I’ll talk about later.

    I have a new job, working as a Legal Secretary for the Oregon Department of Justice. My first state job. I started in September and still have a couple of months left on my trial period. To be honest I took a positional hit for this job–I was a Legal Assistant at my old job, though jobwise it was much more on par with being a paralegal[1. If you’re confused about the hierarchy of these titles, you know how a rectangle is sometimes a square but a square is never a rectangle? Yeah, it’s that kind of confusing.]. Either way, definitely a higher position than secretary. I’m hoping that this is the beginning of an upward climb through the state system, either through the DOJ or somewhere else in the state. I appreciate the job security, the benefits, and the ability to get my student loans forgiven.

    Also, the Dept of Justice’s online intranet site is called DOJO, which is fun.

    In February I wrote some really great songs as part of FAWM, which I hope to throw onto a website this year.

    In November I finished NaNoWriMo for the second time in the 15 years I’ve attempted. The book is called Leap Year One and I hope to get it ready for a first draft by March or April or something like that.

    So I have a lot to be happy about. And yet so many other things are nagging at me.

    (more…)

  • garden bar 12.19.17

    Salad with chopsticks,
    Your Greco-Roman hairdo,
    A Caesar eating caesar
    With Chinese silverware.
    Some thoughtful person
    Blares Shania Twain
    On the Garden Bar speakers.
    Their holiday tree is
    The most non-denominational
    Thing ever witnessed.

  • garden bar 11.8.17

    Shuffleboard bros,
    You take this game
    Too seriously.
    Stacked pucks
    And windbreakers,
    Inevitable bar fables
    About the women
    You’ve “taken.”
    A fireside chat
    About your golf game.
    I am envious
    Of your simplicity.12

  • garden bar 10.27.17

    Aimless child
    In evil olive chair
    Swivels about
    As bored
    As the sky
    Is blue.

  • garden bar 10.4 good buddy

    Man in handkerchief shirt.
    The pattern foils TV screens.
    Your jeans, too long,
    Must be rolled up,
    For fashion?
    Your shoes are the least-
    Looking shoes I’ve ever seen.
    I thought they were socks
    Like athletic socks
    Like you are “too cool”
    For indoor shoes,
    You zen-fueled guy–
    But no, they are shoes
    Like if a medieval peasant
    Made a pair of Reeboks.
    Rébocke: a Gentle Man’s shue.
    You have the face
    That every man from Ohio
    Or Iowa
    Or one of those Midwestern states has,
    Resplendent with short ginger hair
    And portly face.
    The face of a European king.

    Woman in mustard top.
    Women alone always seem
    More lonely than men,
    Their social nature
    Seemingly stripped,
    Earbuds nestled in their ears,
    The latest true crime podcast
    Softly wafting into their ear canal.
    From her perspective,
    A pleasant respite from
    Constant attention.
    She vigorously shakes a
    Plastic tub of salad.
    Does she laugh while eating it?
    I can’t tell, she sat away from me.