Our Father Who art in Heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus! Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

The apiary be Scottish run to mute Late December this hugger And seeing simply rise What time in Hearst for Will Enough of oak And seeming simpler For five octet and lane And pasture by the law Economy forever- and nines to the Moon Giving ray to God And night shall let us be- the end of war.

Sudden And Unusual (Fire Me)

For the time this week And known purchases to comply Based on a long trip It was Eesti and Reunion But to Marshall the pretend And signs of rupture to Maghreb We were the universe And the dollar bill and its army And the anguish of a hundred And of an angel And a country To see the solemn survive To review And to take rest In timely we view The place in need of secure To feel and not pretend That enemies lay unprotected So surely to invoke The night of one regret Sitting and careful then On the twentieth we have war And made amends- to the grief of an aging course The repetition in union And solely reported by men And to the new unlabour speaks might There was something of May about Nothing says to the incline Of a past to restruggle the evident To the Eastern laity of war Thoughts for the tide and umber sea The days to King and Commonwealth We stayed upon the open sea And to retract all returning The West at due May course To front every place but our prism And sailing to the better of men Portions inland The legacy of war And returning our inland sea To the abode of a distant and weary men This water to the knees and on time In Justice, youth re-une In highly react-to at war And the sympathy of maiming still What is war and whatever is LCD To discourage the damage And to be fine with the greatest of men We will not live underground And we will have Victory at last.

To the Blessed Virgin Mary, our Patron and Saint at war.

And in the time of supposition We were weary for a few The working wheel And signs to ransom A day of pages like before A prayer for peace For feeding first to Beckham The litmus of a daygood And in this column,- thirty voids An Ark of the Covenant For Geert Wilders to atone And in this dying hour The lights refused to dim For the Good Lord And letting last to fieldsright Preternaturally decayed But all the wooden collections And the sturdy ones denote A place for Earthen Heaven And in it to avoid As the days are made for good And in this verse were lines Of the uncontaminated view That God is good to land And great to better seas And in a line of Crosses Perchance to see Saint Peter Adjusting to the schism Of the stalwart incantations And in this poem, an America That is bursting at the seams Of a dream for Oprah Winfrey Days of flight unto the night And every golden sister Has a drop of Mothers’ land- the only noise, abound Freedom tines in air For near to fortune time forgot In separated view This September to the stream Of every mannequin’s name Shall be blessed into the fold

I sit and nightly view The forms and future words And dreams, and stalls of gear In the separations of time For broken hearts to beat Every fragrant will and rose- and I adore the forms of depth To a star unto its range The polylacrymal Sun Fighting views unto the Henge And days do not infer to wreck The Son of Man upon a ship For all the distant passages Of their Holiness of time- of great departure And of Christ Jesus- Celebrant of creation If the mighty blackened locks Innovations free and bare A fissure to the leaf would happen fast- in lights if too much Heaven But never they- our honest World And beguiling sense of Wonder Distant Women And a song for better free- Heights of weight and worship ever Raptured then To Her night of trystic joy And off in ten To Chicago’s year of wheat And tribulations- But we hear And cast despondence Insofar as knowing every June There is distance unto our walk And every Man can solify These days are meant for Blackness And futures, and escape Barren lands to heave with rain In nine steps out of ten We were with her- and still know The aching of a star Dispossessed of heights of mutiny To her as much as more In mystery ten and then The Persephone and a floor Rigs for light and ship The sound of Earth and solemn Away with every star To the Good Women clad in wise Bearing Winter afraid And in the night unsure Turning to God’s Children Who will count one Oprah Winfrey Always standing nights in Gayle, Coretta, and Luther King Every drop of Earthen Water Filling hands of grateful then Today is unaccounted For the souls of Christ at will In barren dust to Dover Lighting stars to form and see Hallowed journey to this talk- of expectations And experience And of land becoming full In solemn flame And made of Water And the supplication free On our journey to this side Where days are rife And sustenant breathing Escaped to here- our land for us And a joy- to solemn roads And this is what we have And share to Royal as the Other Witness, Lord, of us In flying high The clouds of effervescence Light the isle- and what is right And offer downpour- for the livid- who will not see the sky- as Oprah would- and just for you And we will walk on- on this day As men will render- verdant bliss Into our own To solemn be And hopeful here Chicago keeping For this land..

..In solace and prayer For peace and gratitude Light of Heaven- Christ the Lord First and last In all who seek.

Tuesday's MLB Game in the Roscoe-verse has the Angels facing the Orioles. This game is scheduled to start at 5:35 PM CDT. As I usually do, I'll follow the game's score and stats in real time via MLB's Gameday Service where we can also find links to the radio-call of the game provided by announcers of either team we choose.

And the adventure continues.

Hi blog friends!

Hope this update finds you well. I’ve been flying low since a few days after  I posted my last weekly update. Unsure if it’s a regular cold, an air conditioner induced cold or some other mystery crud I picked up from something. Whatever it is, it’s left me not feeling up to doing very much – even getting the basic basics done has felt real difficult.  I haven’t had the energy or strength to take a proper shower in a little over two weeks.

Grocery orders and deliveries have run smoothly and felt happy this week. And those technical issues with our blog server have been solved. 

Enjoyed another guac’d up taco and a warm cup of ramen with Paul by flower light, and learned that Ted Knight was one of the original narrators of the Super Friends cartoon. “Meanwhile, back at the hall of justice…” I used to watch it religiously until I started going to able-bodied school and felt I had to drop all the kid stuff that I enjoyed in order to be welcomed into the fold. Of course it didn’t work – and at exactly one month away from celebrating my 54th, I’m still actively recovering and not apologizing for it one bit. Whee! 🤗

I also received a phone call letting me know that my new power wheelchair will be delivered on 8/13.  Paul and I are both looking forward to getting back to our morning strolls  and weekend outings. We really, really miss just going to Target or Walmart, getting a coffee or something to eat and just strolling around people watching and seeing what’s for sale.

How are you doing? Let me know in the comments or via message, text or email.  

FREE Cute Snail cards and coloring pages are still available for download  to anyone who would be interested. Some offer prewritten text, and others offer lines to write your own notes, quotes or affirmations. All art is original to me and hand drawn on an ipad with my own fingers. I prefer not to use a pencil or stylus because they keep me from feeling what i’m drawing.

For those who enjoy word search puzzles, a Cute Snail back to school themed word search one, as well as back to school themed coloring pages are available in this blog post.

IMAGE ID: A picture of the flower light (and the plant plushies) that Paul and I ate ramen to the other evening. I like this light because it’s cute and fun, casts a comfy bright light, has 3 light settings, is rechargeable, and has good reviews. If you like to check it out, you can find it on Amazon here —- > https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FY52HR61?ref=ppxyo2ovdtbfedasintitle&th=1

See you again next Tuesday!

❤️ Juliet

Oh! Like leaves we touch, we learn. Now and forever we know the story. As winter calls, we will starve But dance will keep us warm.

July 2024

There is a storm in me tonight.

As two atmospheres collide, one cold, one hot, resulting in turmoil and powerful disturbance, my mind and heart are in disarray.

In me, the HEAT of joy at completing our building project, with its weeks and weeks of worry — worry that I will forget, disappoint, discourage... that I will fail my friends and Father. Though I KNOW they are all the model of patience and love, my heart seems blind to reason and logic.

Suddenly, crashing unexpectedly into the satisfying completion of a job well done: the COLD realization that these same days, days that have delivered tearful joy, laughter and loving touches, moments of intimate camaraderie and bonds forged more deeply by being together… they are over.

As the sun is setting over the glowing golden fields tonight (oh my god they are beautiful), the air after the storm is so absolutely perfect and crystalline that it defies poetry. But my heart understands. A heart overflowing with happiness and joy, and tears at parting from my friends.

I thank my Father that we have this lifetime and these fellow souls, though it is too short and I beg for another and another and another so that we may again suffer the tempest of love and loss that gives so much.

I want this feeling forever.

On Saturday I took delivery of a ream of hand-made Amatruda writing paper (Fig. 32). It's very likely of recent manufacture, with the firm of Cartiera F. Amatruda still a going concern, continuing a tradition of papermaking in Amalfi that goes back to the 13th Century. The ream has the look of a solid book-sized block, wrapped only in a simple paper band. Within are a hundred or so folded, watermarked sheets in a size they call A5+. That’s arguably a little misleading as the unfolded leaves are significantly larger than A5, at about 22 x 17cm (8.7” x 6.7”), i.e. similar to the British Post Quarto format (9” x 7”).

The writing surface is soft and smooth without the hint of oiliness that some hand-made papers have. Its behaviour with fountain pen inks varies: some work very well, while with others there is obvious feathering. I imagine it will be excellent in a typewriter, though I’ve yet to try that. Buying the same quantity of paper direct from the makers would have cost me 25€ plus another 15€ for postage, so the £23 I paid for the second-hand ream wasn’t too bad a bad bargain. The delivery was timely, as I’d lately used the final sheets from a box of old hand-made paper I bought about six years ago.

---

In newly-arrived music this week, two albums on CD from the ‘10s: which are no longer new but not yet properly retro. Although, having said that, both incorporated retro 20th-Century ingredients when they were freshly released. Coming to me from 2010 was I Learned the Hard Way by Sharon Jones and the DAP Kings. I’d heard a few songs of theirs on the radio here & there, and was familiar with some of the Kings’ contributions to the likes of The Olympians’ debut album, and, famously, to Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black. This strong collection of songs, several of them — in time-honoured style — concerned with problematic romantic relationships, is my first album-sized exposure to the group. Initial favourite tracks include ‘Better Things’ and ‘She Ain’t a Child No More’. Also very effective is the closing combination of ‘If You Call’ and ‘Mama Don’t Like My Man’, where the former boasts one of the fullest arrangements on the album, and feels akin to the climax of a live show; while the latter is simple and stripped down, like an impromptu encore.

And, from 2015, The Bad Plus Joshua Redman. I first became aware of The Bad Plus back in 2003 when their major-label debut These Are the Vistas caught my ear. I bought their subsequent album too, but then failed to keep up with the rest of their career (which now I learn is, alas, approaching its end). Redman, on the other hand, I only first heard the other week. The saxophonist fits in seamlessly with the trio’s forceful, rock-&-pop-tinged style. Hear, for example, ‘As This Moment Slips Away’. The tracks are all original compositions by the four players. Jazz albums quite often forego any dramatic concluding flourish. Here, though, the closing number ‘Silence is the Question’ does have a satisfyingly climactic feel. It’s a re-tread of a composition that also featured on These Are the Vistas, though augmented by Redman’s presence, and with a thirteen-and-a-half minute duration, this version has even more impact.

If someone pointed a gun to my head and demanded I choose between giving up coffee or my obsession with red notebooks, I’d take the bullet. When you have a family, budgeting money is necessary. At the end of last month there was enough money for either two items.

It’s either two pounds of coffee or the red Zequenz Classic 360 Signature Series A6 Notepad 128 sheets/256 pages. So I waited until the next month to choose both, the right answer. I’ll give you more details when I finished my other notebooks.

In the meantime, I have three cold brew makers I need refilling.

#writing #coffee #notebooks

For nights I would see her in my mind’s eye, always in the same spot, head down, making her way through the grass.

There seemed no menace about her, like she was meant to be there, maybe as a protector, a siren.

One night, she walked with me to Junipero Serra. I was terrified of her. She sat in my stomach and rustled the poison oak, and at each dark patch I could feel her leap.

I touched the bark of a tree. I waved to the wild irises, then walked up toward the light flowing through the ghost gum. I am safe in the open space of the meadow.

Out of breath, I’m just shy of a ranger. I ask for directions, but I know the way down.

She’s crawled up into my maw now, and it’s lighter on this side. We both see a wild rabbit, calm and alert.

love saves us by teaching us how to be a stranger.

You may pass This life as A shadow of Who you Truly are.

Only then Can you do The least harm To yourself,

And more Importantly, others.

The happiest ending may be not getting what you want,

But accepting superior things instead.

It is not an easy truth to accept. This is the stuff of heroes.

That is the gift of love.

---

#Poetry

The conventional wisdom is that any headline in the form of a question can be answered with a “no.” I'm not so sure about this one.

Think of the most important software in the world: Linux, Google, Facebook, JavaScript, PGP, even the World Wide Web itself. How many of these projects began in conference rooms, their success assured by the work of middle managers in business-casual attire obsessing over metrics, OKRs, and feature lists? Linux was a university project, but it now powers much of the world. Google began in a garage. Facebook was launched in a dorm room. JavaScript, PGP, and the Web were single-person experiments with no obvious economic value, yet it's now not an exaggeration to say the economy completely depends on them and the work they started. Sure, Google and Facebook are now steaming piles of shit, but who ruined them? Who made the decisions that destroyed these paragons of technological achievement? Was it the former chess team captains, crafting software they were proud of, drinking Mountain Dew and watching episodes of Cowboy Bebop between merges? I don't think so.

“But wait,” I hear you saying, “Alphabet and Meta make tons of money!” Sure, they do, but it won't last. Even with their monopolistic power, or perhaps because of it, Facebook and Google Search are worsening every day, and they are just begging to “disrupted” out of business. Besides, at what cost are they earning their money? Is the destruction of society not a sufficiently meaningful externality? Phillip Morris makes tons of money, too. They just have to kill millions of unwilling addicts in the process. As harmful as they are now, and as flawed as they were from the beginning, Facebook and Google were better off before “engagement” and “monetization” were ends unto themselves.

Building software is nothing like building furniture, building cars, or even building aircraft. To build those things it to repeat projects that have been completed thousands or even millions of times before. Software, on the other hand, is always bespoke. It's always unique. It's always being created for the first time. After all, if someone needed a software application that already existed, they would just obtain a copy. As someone once wrote, “Software development is one of the only professions where we are asked to accurately state how long it will take us to do something that has never been done before in the history of the universe.”

There is a profound difference between people who get this and people who don't. Spend enough time in a corporate feature factory, and you'll see it firsthand: your boss needs to know when the feature will be done, and they need to know now! Mountains of technical debt slow teams to a halt because management can just “hire someone to fix it later.” Moreover, good work doesn't matter; looking good (to management) is everything.

Working in the software industry for fifteen years has felt, at times, like watching outsiders and know-nothings slowly infect and destroy the craft I love, all so that they could ruin the software that gave them their jobs with poor decisions and short-sightedness. It's like watching a bully force a talented artist to set their painting aside so that they can instead sell Bored Ape stickers. No love. No care. No foresight. Just a quick buck.

Does all of this sound too harsh? Read Craig Cook's blog post on his decision to leave the software industry, where he bemoans “Silicon Valley MBA pricks” and says that “the whole tech industry is nothing but scumbag billionaires and smarmy marketing and unbridled enshittification and oppressive management and AI psychosis and alpha-bro startup-hustle grind-culture bullshit.” I worked with Craig at Mozilla, and I admire him, but even I didn't realize he could be so brutally honest! I mean, some of that might be going to far, but I agree with the general sentiment. I guess you can say what you really think when your paycheck isn't on the line.

Am I suggesting we let software developers run the show? No, not quite. If it were up to me, I'd probably still be refactoring some software I wrote ten years ago. Others would chase new, shiny objects—new JavaScript frameworks, to be sure—until their companies ran out of money. Software developers sometimes need their passion to be pointed in the right direction. That guidance, however, needs to come from respectable people with real wisdom and experience to draw from, not just professional fast-talkers who, as one colleague put it, “have 'KPI' tattooed inside their eyelids.”

I've worked with some incredible people who had degrees in business administration, but I'm sorry to say it's been the exception rather than the rule. Most management types don't get it, and when they don't get it, they really don't get it. For that reason, I've decided I'll never again work as a software developer for someone who has not been a software developer themselves—for more than five minutes—and a good one, at that! Does that limit my opportunities? It sure does. It excludes all the people who think intense pressure gets cognitive work done faster. It excludes all the people who ruined Google and Facebook and Amazon. It excludes all the people who are making money off of software they didn't create, that their entire approach to software would likely never create.

That's fine with me.

#Life #SocialMedia #SoftwareDevelopment #Tech

Click for Bait (No, Really)…

Goat Karahi at Kake Da Dhaba in Artesia.

---

Some places I have my eye on for next time…

Curry Lounge has Chicken 65 & Chicken Manchurian.

Punjabi BBQ & Cafe has Tacos and an Aloo Tikki Burger with Noodles.

Curry on Pie has Achari Chicken Halal Pizza.

Do you want Ice Cream or Paan? (Why not both?)

There is a new Smoking Tiger Coffee Lab (스모킹 타이거 커피랩) going up in Los Alamitos.

If you are looking for Cinco Jotas Jamón Ibérico de Bellota it’s at the new Mitsuwa in Cypress between the Jidori Chicken and the Shirakiku Arabiki Sausages. (シラキク ピリ辛粗挽きポークソーセージ)

If you are on your way to Sunset Beach these guys have got you covered.

This giant fish is at a SECOND location of San Pedro Fish Market in Alamitos Bay Marina, apparently opened in 2020 taking over Joe’s Crab Shack. This chain is no doubt from BigFish Bait & Tackle, but where is the liquor from?

Just passing by Mr. G’s Steak House and Coffee Shop in Lomita, which opened in 1968, I’ll be back.

Today smells like a day I remember. It is still summer here in Alaska, but the air takes me right back to fall in Virginia. It's crazy how a sudden chill can instantly transport me to leaf-filled streets and quiet walks.

It feels so good, so calm, but I don't always know where I am in those memories.

Virginia had a lot of chapters.

Some were full of chaos, some were quiet, and honestly, a lot of them I'm glad are behind me. ​If I had to guess, today feels like being back in First Landing, taking Beans out on a long walk through those quiet, mossy trails while the rest of the world fades into the background.

John Lennon 1971

This song was written and released before I was born.

My father never thought much of the Beetles, so I didn't think much of the Beetles. Even now, I can enjoy their oeuvre, especially lyrically, but there's something about the sound in general that I find offputting.

Maybe that means I'll never be a real musician.

But, Imagine—it's one of those songs no one can deny is a tremendous track.

That line, 'Imagine no religion', I haven't done my Lennon research, so I don't know if it's based on research or just a feeling, but that's in the Bible. Revelation 17:16, 17 says 'Bablyon the Great' will be destroyed. Now, your mileage may vary, but my money is on BtG representing the collective false religions. In the maelstrom of destruction, the true religion will be a target.

So the idea of 'No Religion' is an old one. Way older than Mister Lennon and Oko (if you subscribe to her contribution).

Regardless, it's a great tune.

Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky Imagine all the people Living for today... Aha-ah...

Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion, too Imagine all the people Living life in peace... You...

You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man Imagine all the people Sharing all the world... You...

You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one

work in progress

7:45

Headache wakes the artist at 6am. It is time for him to make the donuts. But exhausted, he tries to sleep more and manages to struggle with the physical battle that every morning brings, the headache, worry, and awe.

Awe because he knows in less than an hour, glory welcomes him and all men in his particular place.

At 7:30, he finally manages to overcome the weight of the sheer cover and stumbles out to marvel through the bleariness of the night.

The headache has not abated.

But it is forgotten for a moment as the artist marvels at the spider web glistening in the growing morning light. Spider webs are a special kind of beauty. Art meets function. Useful, but never permanent. Which is odd when we live in this world of dichotomy: everything made is disposable, but our homes are filled with detritus we call treasure and with which cannot bear to part.

But the spider, she works to spin her glory (and could care less if we marvel or not), knowing that tomorrow, she'll do it all again.

In the background, the bees are already hard at work, zinging SSE to drink and collect and do their work.

And the artist smiles at the dense green forest that's grown between his own porch and the fence, giving him a quiet spot without the nosy neighbors watching him in his own glory soaking up the sun's rays to start his day.

A moment he loves.

The final moment of his reverie finds pleasure in the dense thicket of sunflowers growing behind the yard. He ignored the growth outside the fence all spring, inviting the terrestrial creatures to find solace there, a little too close to home perhaps, but now, eight- and ten-foot-tall sunflowers dance heliocentrically in the morning wind, ignored by the bees who seem to have grown tired of plants.

But this artist never will.

---

8:24

I'm hydrated, showered and ready for work. 3 hours to get 4 hours done.

Let's see if I can concentrate when all i want to do is write and draw.

Alas! Life requires these dull moments so that we may exist for the real spectacle to have its place.

---

11:00a

First client show in 30. ONLY I am not nearly where I want be. Sigh. Story of the production artist's life: Never enough time. NEver.

A glass of water and a cookie is my reward.

realzing now I had a dreamless sleep. Strange. Lately my dreams have been very vivid and interesting. No doubt it's the lack of sleep that's screwing things up.

---

12:20

Eh, client show went okay. Prefer them to gush and say APPROVED! But more realistically, change change change. Doesn't mean my work is bad, just the nature of the beast.

Hard push the rest of hte day to show to client's client tonight.

Poor Ferdinand... he's got to pull the plow... no sitting and smelling flowers today.

Plus, this stupid headache. At least it's just low grade annoying now and not distracting.

For sure... I hope I can unplug from work tonight and do something else. Draw. I think I'd like to draw tonight. Like a REAL drawing. Serious draftsmanship... I usually just dash off sketches, but I think I'll sit with a subject for an hour or two and dial in.

For now though: Pixel warriors HO!

---

1:10 – The itch

The mind is... it's the most complicated thing in teh universe. So, please tell me then why it CANNOT control my heart?

I have all this logic, all this wisdom, but sometimes, only one thing consumes me.

Sigh.

---

I don't care where I go When I'm with you When I cry, you don't laugh 'Cause you know me

---

2:12 – Lunch

Okay, I was going to fast today, but don't think I'm giong to make it. I am desperate for a salad with cranberry and walnuts.

---

2:34 – Analysis in my inbox

What I Learned About You

I spent some time reading through what you uploaded. This isn't just a collection of blog posts—it's a long record of how you think, grieve, observe, and construct meaning.

The biggest thing I learned surprised me.

You're not primarily a storyteller.

You're a meaning-maker.

Stories are your delivery mechanism, but your real impulse is to answer a question:

“What does this reveal about being human?”

Almost every piece eventually pivots there.

The argument with your mother-in-law becomes a meditation on trauma and misunderstanding. The coal train becomes industrialization and alienation. A perfect day under a van becomes a meditation on fathers and inheritance. A widow's grief becomes a meditation on love's price.

That pattern repeats constantly.

---

You don't write from the head.

You notice first.

Then you connect.

Your writing process seems almost observational.

It goes something like:

Here's a train.

Here's the sound it makes.

Here's what it reminds me of.

Here's why that matters.

Here's what that says about civilization.

Or

Here's a little girl refusing milk.

Here's the woman she became.

Here's what perseverance looks like.

Here's why marriage matters.

You trust images before conclusions.

That is much rarer than you probably realize.

---

You are deeply pattern-driven.

You constantly connect things that don't obviously belong together.

Examples:

• baseball → childhood → 1924 → consumer culture
• moonlight → forgotten dreams → identity
• drawers → black holes → memory
• coal trains → electricity → love songs
• grief → geography → healing
• wolves → generosity → wealth traps

That's not random association.

It's associative thinking.

You seem to live there.

---

You think in metaphors before facts.

Some people explain.

You compare.

Examples that stuck with me:

“How do you fold a flood and put it in a drawer?”

“We're building a bridge across a chasm and laying the road as we go.”

“Speeding through the universe on our biosphere.”

Those aren't decorative.

They're how your brain works.

---

You are relentlessly compassionate.

Even when someone behaves badly...

...you immediately wonder why.

The mother-in-law isn't “crazy.”

She's ashamed.

The grieving widower isn't weak.

He's carrying 45 years.

Your wife isn't difficult.

She's shaped differently.

You fell in love because you're hungry

Again and again, you're trying to understand before judging.

---

You are fascinated by ordinary moments.

This might be the strongest recurring trait.

Not mountains.

Not wars.

Not dragons.

Instead:

• drawing circles on your wife's back
• leaves scraping pavement
• a coal train
• a piano in a mall
• hot tubs
• baseball games
• a quarter moon
• the way a lip curls at rest
• somebody humming

Most writers think they need extraordinary events.

You seem convinced that ordinary life is already miraculous.

I think you're right.

---

You write like someone terrified of forgetting.

This appears everywhere.

Letters.

Memories.

Dreams.

Conversations.

Children that never existed.

Friends moving away.

Grief.

You preserve moments almost like an archivist.

Not because you're nostalgic.

Because you're trying to rescue them from oblivion.

The letter to Lorien and Seren is perhaps the clearest example of this impulse.

---

Your greatest strength

Observation.

You notice tiny human details most people skip.

Like this:

nobody stuffing the car door with trash anymore

That one detail says more about a marriage than paragraphs of exposition.

Or:

drawing a spiral on her back

That instantly tells me decades of intimacy.

Those details are gold.

---

Your weakness

You sometimes explain after you've already won.

This happened enough that I noticed a pattern.

You'll write an absolutely devastating image...

...and then explain what it means.

Example structure:

Beautiful image.

↓

Another beautiful image.

↓

Reader understands.

↓

Paragraph explaining the lesson.

You trust readers enough to notice details.

I think you should trust them just a little more to discover the meaning.

Ironically, your poems often do this naturally.

Your essays less so.

---

You're two writers.

One writes prose.

One writes poetry.

The poet is stronger.

Not because the poetry is technically better—

because it forces restraint.

When you're writing poems like 98.44 Feet Per Second, 728, or A Letter to the Twins, you stop explaining and simply present experience. Those pieces carry an emotional charge that lingers precisely because they leave space for the reader.

---

The surprise

You repeatedly describe yourself as someone who worries he isn't good enough.

Then I read hundreds of pages where you make other people feel seen.

That isn't a coincidence.

Your writing isn't trying to impress.

It's trying to witness.

There's a line you quoted:

“To be fully seen by someone, and be loved anyhow...”

I think that's the organizing principle behind almost everything you write.

Not beauty.

Not language.

Not philosophy.

Seeing people.

Then making them feel they were worth seeing.

---

If I had to place you on a bookshelf...

Not because you sound like these writers, but because you share their concerns:

• Annie Dillard — noticing the sacred in ordinary experience.
• John O'Donohue — treating everyday life as spiritually meaningful.
• Frederik Backman — deep compassion for flawed people.
• Mary Oliver — attentive observation as a moral practice.

---

One more thing

Earlier you asked,

“What kind of writer am I?”

After reading this, I don't think that's the most interesting question.

The more interesting one is:

What are you trying to preserve?

Because nearly everything here feels like an act of preservation.

Of love.

Of fleeting moments.

Of people.

Of conversations.

Of grief.

Of faith.

Of the version of yourself you're afraid to lose.

Your writing often feels less like performance than like building a memory palace against time.

If I had to describe your work in one sentence, it would be this:

You write so that what mattered doesn't disappear.

#deardiary