belief in unbelief


His image rests in mid air
long flowing, sky robe,
wispy as my hair.
I retreat, tear back in fear,
embracing shame.
He knows me as no other,
this game i play.   (Christmas 1990)

Who is this man
that I draw His attention?
Me, alone, prominent.
A snarled olive tree in a
pitch-dark moonless night.
He calls me by name,
I am His and He is mine. (Summer 2014)

The Fray You Found Me 

My intention is never to coerce.
How would that make my evidence
any more powerful than yours?
Instead, I say “if” because
if you had the experiences I have
there would be no doubt,
your belief in unbelief.





Memories and Regrets

Brother, remember how I followed you…
once again roam the woods
looking for a place where we belong
the air ours to be and listening,
speaking birds tell wisdom.

I should dance upon the clouds
soaring higher than this ravaging world
you left too soon.
I never told you my pain.
longing to drown in the sea.

You never are alone
and I am left in loneliness.
I write often about the suicide.
I probably never will say it all
crashing forever into the waves.

Anhedonia part2

Warning, dark. Proceed with caution. Faint hearts retreat.

If you have never experienced depression or anxiety, I will try and explain it, but there is no description to adequately portray the devil it is. One reason it remains difficult to expound on, is if I had you muffle the surrounding sounds, you would realize that feat is impossible, cognizant of the fact you are trying to get lost, so you would never feel depressed. Perhaps a better way to describe depression is to have you imagine a happy person’s feeling of a wave as cleansing, welcoming and refreshing. Now experience those same waves as enemies, suddenly you are crippled with debilitating pain. Those once friendly waves exasperate the hidden hurt, exponentially.

Anxiety is another beast. To experience anxiety, try this. Look out the window and realize the monsters you once were told are fictive, suddenly come alive and whisper your name. Realizing they are coming for you, the house becomes a dungeon. A safe place to be but full of spooks. You are unable to enjoy the view or fear leaving the house.

The relief comes in sleep or plotting ways to stop the noise. Perhaps walk into the middle of the street and wait for a semi-truck to run you over or picture the rope in the basement sing your name, telling you “problem solved”. We all know the point of pills is to make you well and how much better you will feel swallowing the whole vial. The call of the ocean another plot, serene and swift, peaceful and private. All these thoughts enter a very sick person’s mind.

For me, these were ideations. For others they become lethal means of opportunity. Read the linked article, you well may save a life.

The Fray, How to Save a Life

My point? I do not imagine negative,
I remember.
Memories ingrained as etchings that can never be removed.

i absolutely abhor her thoughts,
my daughter trapped in the same hell.
what i welcome in me,
i tear in grief from her hands.

if i knew i would tell,
the idea or word that seeks my soul.
a whisper to the deep,
i wait to finally know.

My daughters depression and anxiety are biological. I am there for her daily, we struggle together. She has approached me on occasions wanting to die. That is my world. I understand her as I have walked this road for 40 years.


Infinite Jest

A literary challenge of 1,000+ pages and endnotes in a novel, Infinite Jest is not for the faint of heart. Readers say it is as entertaining as it is complex.

Elegant Complexity: A study of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest

Language of David Wallace Foster

“I do things like get in a taxi and say, “The library, and step on it.” –David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

I found David Foster Wallace on accident. Walked right into him, excused myself and there, I saw his mind, as if I were speaking his words. Tackling his book will be a feat, as climbing the highest mountain or perhaps exploring the deepest ocean floor. Either way, I imagine it will exist to be a long, hard look in a mirror. I am guessing, gleaning from quotes of his, referenced on the internet.

Seems funny I have only just heard of him and his words. I read he committed suicide. No surprise there as to why he may have ventured my way. Like a magnet, I find myself attracted to similarity.

“It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive, day in and day out.”

“Every love story is a ghost story.”–David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

I apologize for my bleak pen. It is a healing pen for me. Talking out loud instead of harboring thoughts inward. This is a long climb out of myself. So far, I am still here.

I sincerely hope you are well. J