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 |   Left-overs piled on hot rice and mixed. |
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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bibimbap พีบิมบับ (pheebimbap) At home in Thailand we do something similar. At home, we make rice and top it with whatever we didn't finish from the last meal. I finally decided to use June 2022's entries for my responses to other bloggers' entries. I tend to do this daily anyways and post in my weekly 'catch-all' blog (added to every day} "Porthole"  .
Each entry to be brought to the notice of Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ and StephBee when they are running the Bard Blog Contest. For bitem:981150 sponsored by huser:webwitch and huser:sgcardin |
For
StephBee and Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ I am agnostic about reincarnation. My body is worn out and my Spirit is tired of this ugly body of mostly water. I was suicidal in Thailand but no one noticed, neither here nor there. People see me smiling and interacting with the world. Even if I mention anxiety or depression it’s discounted and that merely reminds me of how invisible I was growing up, how utterly invisible I felt 1981-1999, how problems arose when I became visible. So, I’m not too thrilled by life. I can only hope that I’ve learned something along the way. I’m sure there’s more than I remember. For instance, I hadn’t thought about the newsletter I put out for years until today. That part of my life was important at one time. Now it’s nearly forgotten. I even put one out in high school! I wonder whether anyone has saved a copy. After writing hundreds of poems, will anyone keep one I wrote for them? If I’m recycled what goes forward? What would make someone recognize me? The Thai BL “Vice Versa” explores the idea of an alternate world. When Sea and Jimmy go back they try to find each other not knowing what each other looked like ‘before’. How did they succeed? They had agreed on uttering one word in greeting. What would a friend and I choose? I can only imagine. "Yes, I have met you before. I don't remember where nor when nor what your name was way back then; but, I'm happy to meet you again." But that applies to many interactions as I’ve met the same personalities, the same physical looks, the same voice, the same aura… around the world again and again.
In a twinkling in memory of Bob French Full moon over the canyon, bright star to its right. Is it Venus or Mars lighting up my sight? Something twinkles in the north. It moves through star-clouds floating east. And above darkness: stars and star-light. Which one have you traveled to? From which do you send your blessings tonight? Or did you return long ago... or never ascend, finding a new home for your soul? When I look deep into my friend's eyes is it your twinkle looking back at me? Whichever, be you starshine, the magic of moonshine, Venus or Mars... you have blessed me. Your light has caressed me through dark years and darker. Tonight, I pray that your light shines eternal knowing that the face I see in the moon could be yours, that the twinkling traversing the night watches over me, that the kindness you once showed me has never faded, nor has my memory of you. When my friend next shares his sunshine ...I'll think of you. Bob died January 1972. Gary was born October 1972. When I met Gare in 1999 he reminded me of Bob in too many ways. "This and every November [#4 Gary Mc]" This is number 12 of 12 blog entries for The Bard. Until next year,  ~500 words |
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StephBee and Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ Hey, you know what paradise is? It's a lie A fantasy we created about people and places As we like them to be But you know what truth is? Those of us who are single and childless by choice or by circumstance may not agree with the message that marriage and family is what it's all about. But... there's a point to be made about being who you are. I never lead a truly hedonistic life like many do and assume, because of my age and being gay, that I must have. I learned to say "no" as a stubborn child, "going along" more than once while still thinking "no". Perhaps that's why I was never truly hedonistic. I could never let go... of fears, upbringing, other people's imposed limitations. I didn't quite learn how to say "yes" and when I did I didn't have proper boundaries. And without boundaries... I didn't know that it was okay to be me. But thanks to Kevin, Keith, therapists and teachers I grew in spite of that. Kevin's acceptance and Keith's deep insight were key moments in my life. However, stumbling around in life like a rough stone in a tumbler lead to pieces of me breaking off. Some of those pieces I still mourn. But what's left? Maybe the essence of who I am, in a kinder gentler but authentic-at-the-core kinda way. So what words describe me: 1. generous... used to describe me... as in "generous to a fault". But it's still a part of me. 2. sensitive... definitely. It helps in experiencing the world emotionally. 3. anxious... yeah. Not proud of it but I worry too much. Possibly a resault of trauma. 4. dreamer... a way to escape reality and boredom. 5. indecisive... I avoid making decisions until I'm sure or until I must. Where has this lead? Few close friends and running away. But my travels, my writing, my openness to strangers has gifted me in ways that most folks won't experience. It has also lead to "poverty" as my life has been enriched by experiences but not money. Since being poor is a crime in America it has lead to problems that I had to overcome. Not fun. But, once again, I survived, many have not. Do I like myself? Am I satisfied? I'm not a finished product yet. I'm still not a gem. This short piece may be depict of how I often feel:
~400 words |
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StephBee and Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ My health is failing. Much of that is my own fault. I lament that I live in a backwards country... but still don't go to the doctor. Teeth: had perfect teeth growing up. They now need to be pulled. I need implants or dentures. I'm having problems eating certain things. Legs: neuropathy or psoriasis or both? I've had DVT three times but this seems unrelated. I monitor swelling but itching and broken skin is a bad sign. Circulation... I was diagnosed with high blood pressure after being homeless. I need to find out whether there is blockage, whether I need a stent, whether I need meds or a diet or both. Shortness of breath limits me at times. Mind... slipping! But I don't know how badly... and whether I should be concerned. I try to stay active but I've often had too much on my mind. I need reminders. I was healthier in Thailand: my skin, my diet, my daily exercise... and Pan helping and checking on me. Bottom line: I'm not taking care of myself. 1007 |
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StephBee and Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ Getting lost can be frustrating when one is in a hurry. Otherwise, it can be delightful. One sees what one didn't expect. I wasn't lost in Paris. I took a photo of the Eiffel Tower from the Obélisque ... I wasn't about to walk that far. True... I was just wandering around. That's what I do. I wasn't lost in Pest either. I walked from the bus station to my hostel. I saw a homeless encampment under the highway ramp and stopped for roasted chestnuts. Not lost. When I worked I knew alternative routes home in case the roads were blocked by snow or traffic. I learned to love back-roads. I was never "lost" for long. In Bremen... I was lost. But I managed to see the Big Brick Elephant. Even took a picture. On my wanderings back... I walked through a very pleasant neighborhood thinking, I could live here. I never felt I was at risk. All I needed to do was say "Roland" or "Musikanten". Both are in the center and it's easy to orientate oneself from there. Costa Rica? Don't ask directions! No one knows nor can they explain.  Most people are helpful but "take a lazy left at the old church that burnt down 30 years ago" doesn't really help. Ticos know a place if they have been there... if not? Better to ask a tourist. Local police tend to be out-of-towners. Do you know the way to San José? Find the local bus station and ask. But be aware... there's more than one San José in Costa Rica. I've lived in the Big One.  Nope. I'm seldom afraid of getting lost. ~275 words 999 |
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StephBee and Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ Take it away! Loss isn't always bad. New Year's Eve 1999... very sick. Suspected my appendix but it was a weekend and a holiday. I went to my doctor's on January 2nd or 3rd (Monday). I called friends to take me there. Yep. Poke here, poke there. "Take him to the hospital." It was a couple blocks away. They called ahead. Poke ... ouch! Yep. Appendix has to go! They operated that afternoon. Surgeon was great. No problems. I only had to stay 2 nights. But... doctor told me the necrosis was at the base which wasn't good... but he got it all. 24 years appendix free! Except for my writing. I was off work for at least 6 weeks. My big boss didn't want me back until I was sure. He'd had peritonitis. ... 80's... car crash... I was the pickle in the middle. Friends found me wandering and took me to an all-night Greek restaurant. They thought I'd been assaulted (that was 2 years earler, same weekend, same corner) and took me to the hospital (same hospital all 3 times), found my wallet and called my uncle  ; my cousin called my sister.Stayed in hospital for about one week. Called the Mertz instead of the Metz (only one digit difference in phone number). Oddly, before I had a fear of dying in a car crash... but not after. The fear went *poof* along with short-term memories. My car was totalled and I was 'out of it' longer than I realised. Lost a year of memory... before and after. I only remember my sister visiting, "What day is it" and, "Romper Room"... ... and "Never Gonna Give You Up", Rick Astley. Somethings you hold onto! But not your appendix nor your fear. ~290 words 983 |
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StephBee and Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ "People just don’t want to fall in love with a person they know they’ll outlive." It stings. This is the story prompt for "Write From the Heart - Story Contest" I should write something for the contest. Until then:I do think this also applies to many relationships, including pets. It also echos how nomads/refugees/students feel about a place they must leave. And the reverse... as one ages it's hard to fall for someone/something/someplace when you know you'll die soon. So... yeah... it's one reason why I gave up fighting to maintain an intimate relationship with Pan. The age gap was too much. May to September is awkward, May to December a tad ridiculous. Still, it had it's good points. We both needed stability. I learned a lot; hopefully, he did too. We keep in touch; that door's not locked. I also needed to learn to let go. I struggle with letting go. In the past I could sing "You can't hurry love" I waited and waited... And "love don't come easy"... been there too. "It's a game of give and take" which is what Pan and I worked on. The language and cultural barriers didn't help. Moving forward: "Love Knows Not Time" would be a good title for a new poem, story, collection. I need to keep my options open until the lid of the coffin closes. An old bluesy poem that's appropriate:
~230 words 978 |
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