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Back to a writing life

Well, the Ride excitement has mellowed, I'm back to my life, and things don't seem to be all that good. Granted, they're not terrible, but good would probably not be the best word to describe things.

For starters, I broke up with Charles. And even the wording of that sounds wrong, as I'm still not sure who, if any one of the two of us, ended up being broken up with. I initiated the conversation, I had been the one thinking about an end for some time, and he was the one who I hurt. But I lost a great man, and I can't stop wondering if I made a terrible mistake.

Being in a family way

So there I was, sitting in room 2611 of INOVA Alexandria Hospital and thinking "This is where I should be." My brother Diego had had his appendix removed a few hours before, and like any good family-member-in-town I had been there to see them wheel him out of the operating room. I didn't find out until that morning, when I was at work and Diego's friend Julie called me and gave me all the when-where-whats. I called the family in Costa Rica, left a message with my dad's secretary because I couldn't get a hold of my mom in San José and my dad was somewhere around the campus where he teaches.

The Gay American Novel

Over the last two years I've been on a literary limb of sorts, and I think that my careful attempts to stay balanced upon it have required some interesting acrobatics. I've had a great view, though.

I have enjoyed vitriolic indictments of urban gay Americana for the past two years so much that I'm almost certain I will never be able to read another and-then-I-came-out-and-I-was-happy story ever again.

The Lonely Man and "Looking for Langston"

the neighborhood is dangerous, but we go there
we walk the long way,
our jangling keys mute the sound of our stalking
to be under the sky
above or below a man
this is our heat
radiant in the night
our hands blister with feeling
a field of flowers blossoms
where we gather in empty warehouses
our sea falls
without the sound or the grace of stars
we lurk in shadows
we are the hunger of shadows

In the dark we don't have to say "I love you"
The dark swallows it,
And sighs like we sigh
when we rise from our knees.
I am lonely for past kisses
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