The most useless poetic waxing about home.

It is a bluebird day here in the rain-forest. At noon this morning (er, afternoon), I cracked my eyes just the tiniest bit to see the sun beaming through the crack between my bedroom curtains. My room was cold and I could smell the crisp air as if I were outside. The whole thing made me smile, and the sun ultimately woke me up. That, and the fact that my cat, Popsicle was doing this thing where she crawls all over me and tries to rub her anus in my face. What the fuck?

Juneau, Alaska is a special place. Anyone who knows me knows how strongly I feel that way--but when the rain falls in October and November, it falls constantly and it falls sideways, and even I can forget how great this place can be. Today, with the orangey colors and below-freezing air that somehow manages to feel warm, is the exception. Today is a reminder of the importance of the beauty in nature to the well-being of the soul (and other cheesy lines of bullshit). In short, I love it here. The end.

The Color of my Skin

For the first time in about four months, I wrote a poem. It's a bit naughty, and probably unfinished, but I thought I'd post it. It's called "The Color of my Skin."

Coffee tastes best when it is the color of my skin;
gets that way with a dollop of half 'n half.
There is no place for non-fat.
And a man tastes best when there is sweat on his skin;
gets that way when his body begins to writhe,
percolates desire.
So much desire spills over the brim,
like a bitter cup of half 'n half coffee, smooth,
sweet,
the color of my skin.

Oh, holidays...

Despite the fact that I created this blog for a semester-long creative writing class that is now complete, and every single thing I've written in here up until now has been for a grade, I've decided that I might as well continue writing in this thing--mostly so that I don't become a rusty writer, but also because blogging, like journaling, is kind of fun in a pensive, narcissistic sort of way.

Anywho, I should probably mention something about Christmas and New Year: they were both good. I could go on about all of the wonderful gifts I received on Christmas, and all of the alcohol I consumed on New Year, but I don't think I will, because Christmas presents and New-Year-booze are really just holiday fringe benefits.
At the heart of the holiday season, it isn't about what you get, it's about who you connect with (yeah, I know how goddamn cheesy that sounds, but you know I'm right). I mean, think about it. People stress the fuck out during the holidays. They spend all of their money on gifts and honey ham, they eat their weight in chocolate, and they dress up for parties they don't want to go to. It can be torturous and overwhemling, but all of the stress is met with reward on Christmas morning.
What I love most about the morning of December 25th is that rare, distraction-free connection I have with my family. With the television turned off, and cell phones and computers tucked away, we are all able to focus on our shared happiness and togetherness. It is the one time during the year when the delight of giving and receiving overpowers all of the other shit that comes with being human. It's pure, it's simple, it's cliche as hell--but I fucking love Christmas. The same can be said of celebrating the New Year, too. Just replace family with friends and gifts with alcohol and voila! An excuse to celebrate and be together.

Some New Year togetherness.