Friday, March 2, 2018

sio my lover

1. This is the joke we had after leaving the Shake Shack near Central park:

"Excuse me, do you know how to get to the Shake Shack near Central Park?"

2. Yeah you just go through the side entrance of the Natural History Museum and wander the science center unable to figure out how to get to the top of the walking curving timeline of the Universe exhibit so one of you goes the opposite direction (starting from 13.7 billion years into) while

3. the other one of you takes the elevator to the top of the exhibit but somehow ends up above it and unable to enter through the theater that leads out and onto the beginning of time and so frustrated meets you back near the second floor restrooms that you both use and then

3. continue wandering the animals of North America exhibit intrigued that there are indeed jaguars in the deserts of Mexico or something and then both of you go have a seat next to the Teddy Roosevelt statue and engage in mutual existential crises while both soothing and

4. falling apart in front of one another until you are ready to wander through the natives of the Pacific Northwest exhibit and somehow be sad and scared for and the native ways of life gone and the cries they might be playing over the loud speakers or imagined so you

5. hold each other close, closer than you already are holding each other close and you realize that you don't have the patience or legs for this museum anymore that you donated five dollars each to enter cuz you both realized once you got to Brooklyn that you we both

6. were broke and panicked but happy and panicked and happy so happy as you got out of the museum on the other side and started walking and across the street from the near the northwest corner was a Shake Shack and everything about that sounded good both the shake and the implication that

7. a shack would be a place of affordability if not nothing else and so you both went and ordered and oh how I wish I could remember the flavors we got but somehow I know she knows if I just ask her her memory is like a sponge and we felt like sponges walking in the humid heat

8. filling ourselves with cold thick sugary dairy through two straws trying each others milkshakes and wandering back into Central Park as we saw a man eyeing our shakes and we imagined how we would tell people our directions to the Shake Shack from there like the ways we just mentioned

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

it's quiet

A crow squawks, “Hear that? Those are my children.” my mom says from her bed in the living room of a Seattle apartment. My little sister tells me my mom feeds the crows peanuts from the window next to her bed. That she dislodges the window screen to do it. 

I am up here for the first time in my life. My mom and little sister moved here six months ago. My mom found out she had breast cancer two months ago. Stage 0, the best of the worst case. She had a double mastectomy yesterday. I drove her home today, “Home sweet home.” she said when she climbed into bed, a dozen pillows awaiting her.

The surgery went well. “What size breast did they give me?” she asked not long after we were able to see her.

We were talking about moms on the phone and I told my girlfriend my mom gives me creativity. That when I am shut off toward her, it shuts me off from a source of chaos and wonder that has fostered me in many ways. It’s amazing to feel so many ways toward a person as if splintered through a prism of thousands of sides existing in different times.

My upbringing was strange and chaotic and full of a lot of dramatics masquerading as love and a lot of love true to itself as simple love. My upbringing was at the four hands of two separate people doing the best they could with themselves as they were giants in my mind and sorcerers in my heart. Gone and present shifting and rarely interlocking and gone and present.

And now here I am drawing closer toward middle age while watching my mother sleep in an apartment near a city I don’t know while feeling full of despair about my lifelong pursuits and a relentless gnawing energy toward them anyway. I am talking about art or the bastardized versions of  the art that I practice or don’t.

When my mom got out of surgery she said her “throat was dry like the frickin Sahara desert.” When my dad got out of surgery three years ago he took all the cords and tubes in front of him and he said “spaghetti.” When my mom got out of surgery she mentioned my father was funny. It was one of two things both my parents would agree about of my father, that he was funny and that he was great at putting in an I.V.

Drugged, before her surgery yesterday morning sitting before me in a pre-surgery room with no cell phone service my mom told me it wasn’t just selfishness that informed her reasoning for having six kids it was also that she wanted to make us out of love and joy.

-Josh Turek

feb 28, 2018

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

orange light

my sister had a husband and she was so nervous when they first lived together that every morning she would wake up early and walk to a nearby coffee shop to use the restroom. and one night at christmas dinner they told us about this and how they didn't do this anymore. how they were comfortable they told us.

i haven't been married. i haven't had kids. i haven't been involved in any accidental pregnancies. i only recognize that i am becoming more of an exception when i speak with old friends. for my showbiz pals i am right on schedule, delayed, now moving on schedule in things.

i still find nights to stay out late and still put myself out there in vulnerable places to try to stretch the bounds of my creation. i still have energy and it is troubling and it wastes plenty of time realizing how it's both trying to outrun death and remain humbled toward its inevitability.

life, what a difficult proposal inherent within itself for a human being. not a novel thought, the ones who think about it a bit, know this thought. and yet we go. and yet we go. and yet we go.

not too far.

oh how grief shifts our minds

Sunday, February 11, 2018

I dreamt I took acid on a bus and drew my brother

I guess for awhile it became my calling to be filled with vapors for the antagonists.

Scratch that, it was my breeding that lead me down such a path. Scratch that, it's my back, you scratch mine and I'll scratch yours. See. That is the difference now, you see. How I am able to receive giving and soak up loving and not drive myself nuts draining myself into that acidic state beyond loving, yeah, loving.

Oh yeah, now we're rolling.

Friday, January 12, 2018

parental guidance

I talk to my mom about her breasts for an hour on the phone cuz that's where the cancer is.

The doctor says if she has to have it than this is the type to have, slow moving, doesn't appear to be spread.

I took my girlfriend up to the land I grew up on with my mom when we lived in a trailer for those few long years with no electricity in our trailer except for that 3 pronged extension cord our kind Catholic neighbors ran down to us through one of our sliding windows. And there is a real house on foundation there now and a few big mature trees that took me a second to realize were the same once small slender trees my mom had planted in that intricate garden all those years ago.

She would order the plants out of a paper book catalogue.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

free wine

So here is how it should be

I didn't write much from the heart this year

I lived from it

So much from it I can't write it

I always said there is a time to live and a time to write

I have had lead in my blood, laughter choked somewhere in my gut, a slow impulse to letting things out

As all this overwhelming lush entity floods in

And I gasp expecting something worse than these beautiful sunrises and sunsets

God Bless you America while you last

Saturday, December 23, 2017

The damage truckers on the 5 freeway can do to a relationship

We met on a rainy day in the crucibles of our own grief. We had both lost men who happened to have the same first name. Hers a year before mine and a lover not a father. But then my father was a lover too I guess, just not my lover. But he had made me that way, through loving.

And in the chaos of loss and the certainty of more of it to come butting up against all of the uncertainty as to when it would happen, we threw caution to the wind, messy like a liquid but lucky like a ridden wave. It would, we decided, be messier, all of it, to do nothing about us at all. And so we turned ourselves into that us and wrangled all the beautiful things that felt effortless like a wildflower bouquet in the hands of a child who had just crossed miles of mud to get it

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

mama there goes this man

You, I, worry about all the things that could happen to make it end. The uninhabitable Earth. The plague of physics at high speeds. What people can do to people. And what people can do to ourselves. And then, it all ends anyway.

This right now here and now is a recognition that I am letting my brain wander off as the confetti pours down all around me. This is me getting everything there is out of life at this very fragile moment and labeling it joy.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

And as we made love I felt your spirit and mine and I realized I loved you on every single day of your life

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

xo sio

How she makes cookies out of dust. How i make the bed after us. How we keep having less and less of things and finding more and more in each other

and how now that we have met i am already always where i wanna be