The Whiskey Rule

​Half full

The whiskey rule

Glass positioned just so on the window sill

The room is still

(save for the rise of her chest)

The room is quiet

(save for the enter and exit of breath in her breast)

And the very hint of a sunrise crests, stretches

Stitches along the horizon line

A divine sign fine reflecting in its own time

Through the drops on the pane I’m staring through

The gray skies hanging low

The slow cars going to God knows where

Soft splashes are

Soft whiplashes and this is a small moment

That will never last

Is slipping past and

She breathes soft

Sleeps soft

Will soon slink softly through the door into the

Overcast afternoon of the day that settles

Last night into a Fond Memory Tomb
Fear not

Frown not

I’m left with a glass half full
After all

That’s the whiskey rule

Rainy Day Romance

I like making love on rainy days
When we fog the windows and
We fill the rooms and
I don’t have to beg you to stay
Those gray afternoons that filter through
The love letters traced in the
Beads of sweat across your skin
A pale blue hue stretched languid ‘cross us
While we talk ways to start again
I like faintly brushing errant strands
Of hair behind your ear
I like the ways your legs embrace
Me and coyly draw me near

I miss those long and patient minutes
Just before you began to stir
I long for love on rainy days and
For the lovely way things were



I like the feeling of rain on my skin
The smell of the grass it settles in
The way it runs right through me
A short circuit shock to the soul
I like the rain because it dims the fire
Clears the mind, and I find
I’ve left behind the fear that leaves me tired
Eyes turned up to a dark ceiling
Pushing to see the stars behind it
I like the rain, being in it
Under it
For each drop is a star itself
Folding my clothes around me in a cool embrace
Tousling hair and kissing my face
Cleansing and enveloping
Gone for a time but certain to return
Destined to fall so that I may catch it
It is the surest lover I have ever known

The Last Few Days

I’ve been a little preoccupied the last few days. With work, with my mind, with other people. It’s been frustrating not writing, but it’s also been nice not to worry about it.

Thursday night I went out on a date. Part of me was worried she wouldn’t show up because part of me always thinks that. I’ve been stood up before. A lot. It always kind of baffled me because I never thought my personality was so bad that someone would pass up a free meal, but whatever. I started carrying a book with me, just in case. I’d still eat. I mean, by that point I was hungry so hell, I might as well buckle down and have a good dinner and a good read.

But this girl didn’t stand me up. It was our second date, the first being a dinner on my birthday. The second was even better. We had a good dinner. Followed it up with a local film festival that was delightful not only because the films were good but because the crowd was so interactive, knowing or being someone that was involved with the short films.

Following that, we hopped across the street for drinks and karaoke. I didn’t sing. She did. I’m absolutely addicted to her voice. I could listen to an album.

We went back to my place afterwards. I had chickened out on my birthday, but I took a gamble here and kissed her. It paid off. We went inside and watched whatever was on at 3AM in the morning which, and this shouldn’t be a surprise, consisted of divorce court and Nicolas Cage movies and I’m here to tell you that is totally fucking awesome.

We didn’t talk much, instead curling up with each other and losing ourselves in Academy Award-winning Nic formerly-Coppola’s riveting performance in National Treasure. And that was perfect.

It has been a long, long time since I’ve been on a date where I didn’t feel out of place or pressured to be a certain way. It was easy and it was fun. And regardless of where it goes from here, it was a night I needed after losing two friends and being stressed out at life. She makes me want to write and writing is my life.

She left around 4:30, I went to bed, woke up renewed enough to trudge through eight hours of work and then went out to see Crystal Method play at a local bar. I like electronica alright and it was solid, but I found myself out at the deck bar more often than not. And it was raining. In fact, it was pouring and I was drenched and I kind of loved it.

I’ve talked about my love for rain before, but this was a different. Very little is similar between hearing the chatter of rain drops on rooftops and being in the middle of a downpour. I felt cleansed. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, rare occasions for Alaska. As people staggered around me and even as I slipped into a more inebriated state, I was fascinated by the sheer naturalness of the weather. It felt amazing. I think I’m going to get pneumonia, though.

Cut to yesterday and I’m at work again. A customer at the table next to me sagged in his chair and then collapsed onto the floor. My co-worker and I both tried to catch him but were too late. He hit hard and seized a little. Coincidentally, one of the other customers in the store happened to be an EMT and he took care of the man until the emergency services arrived. He was responsive and coherent as he left and I hope he makes a full recovery.

The entire thing left me shaken and I resolved to get a beer after work. Just so happened the Spin Doctors were in town to play a free (to the public) show down by the railroad station just a couple blocks away. I got off in time to catch the last hour or so of the set.

I stood on top of a hill under a grey sky, plastic cup full of beer gripped tightly in my hand, looking over hundreds of people of all ages. They were dancing and drinking, fighting and kissing, sitting and staggering. I saw dozens who stood in one spot, eyes closed and bobbing their head to the music. I had arrived wondering how many people showed up hoping that they would hear Two Princes because that was the only song they could sing along to. I left realizing that it didn’t matter. Music – like paintings or sculptures or prose – is art and people take in art to escape from the world for a bit. Fans are nice. They’re the bread-givers to artists. But here it didn’t matter if these people had bought every album or just needed to unwind; the Spin Doctors had showed up to give their gift and these people received it by having a goddamn good time.

I don’t know that there’s a point to this entry. It feels like I’m writing into my diary, hoping that the other end of it isn’t Voldemort. I do know that I have spent the last month mourning and sulking a bit and doubting and the last few days have kind of put things into some perspective.

I forgot how nice it is to be liked and to hold someone in your arms. I was reminded how fleeting life is and how suddenly something can happen. I found myself in positions where I appreciated the smaller things in life, be it music or rain, and made a promise to try and do so more often.

Our planet is not the biggest, but that doesn’t mean it’s small. There is so much that happens on every level. Chemical reactions, volcano eruptions, animal friendships. We create incredible things to be shared. We have relationships.

All the same, we are mortal. We spend so much time worrying about what we’re doing or how we’re going to make something work or pining over someone or something and we aren’t literally taking the time to smell that gorgeous bouquet of flowers. To smile at someone who looks blue. To pet the sweet dog that ran up to you at the park. To say hi to the girl or boy with their nose in a book.

I spent the last few days celebrating and appreciating life in a way I haven’t in a while and I liked it quite a bit.

Rooftop Music

It’s a quarter after three in the morning as I write this, so I’ll probably post this in a few more hours. I’m exhausted, as per usual, but I find myself having trouble falling asleep.

Outside and above, I can hear the rain pattering steadily against the building. It has been like this most of the day, with a brief peek of daylight around 10PM because I live in Alaska and the sun is a psychopath.

The rain is a good thing. The Funny River wildfire has consumed close to 200,000 acres so far and anything that helps the brave men and women fighting it is welcome at this point. The rain is a helpful thing.

Truth be told, I’ve always liked the rain. Sunny days are good and golden. Snowy days can be bright but cold. Cloudy days are gloomy and foggy days are somber but rainy days are clean. They get the dirt off your car and breathe life into the flora. It’s like a little reset button to freshen things up. Some places rain a lot, maybe even too much. I lived in Seattle for a time. I’ve been to England. Even so, the concept is the same: rain is a clean thing. Rain is a healing thing.

I tend to be more introspective on rainy days. Not creatively, mind you, which struck me as weird. I just tend to think a lot more about life. About myself. I’m not as critical of myself on rainy days, which also strikes me as weird. Instead, I’m able to remove me from myself and accept things. I see where I am at life. I tend to have a better grasp of who I am, what I want to be, to do, to turn my life into.

I love those days you can curl up somewhere with a glass of hot chocolate or what-have-you and look out the window at the street or the neighborhood or the city. The world is so much clearer on rainy days. The people around me are in focus. I consider my relationships with people and my relationship with myself. On rainy days, I don’t judge. I take account and accept. I do this because rain is a thinking thing.

There is something liberating about it. I remember being a kid and going outside while it was pouring, running around gleefully. It was cold. It made the world smell incredible. I remember warm rain in Montana and Texas. I remember stepping out as a teenager and an adult. I recall moonsooning rain in Venice, Italy, sweeping sideways by the will of winds so strong they broke my umbrella. It was frightening; I felt I was in battle and that feeling was invigorating.

There is something about brushing wet hair back from your face while your clothes stick heavily to your frame. Something about the soft drops massaging your skin as you close your eyes and tilt your head back to the skies. Something about pulling someone close to you, one arm around their waist, one hand at their neck and jawline, holding them steady while passion pulses between the lips of both people, the clouds weeping happily upon you.

Rain is a romantic thing.

That pitter-patter. That ratatatatat. The thrum of the window pane and the weather vane and the thud thud thud against the porch. The steadiness of it. The reliability.

I have taken much more security and comfort from the sound of falling rain than I ever have from the stillness of night. The rooftop music it makes is a far more pleasant sound than any windchimes I have ever heard. I don’t need bird songs. I don’t need quiet. I only need to lay here and listen to the taptaptaptaptap and I know I’ll soon be asleep.

After all, rain is a soothing, beautiful thing.