At this moment, this morning, I would like coffee and a kiss. I have neither. I do have power, cooling, security, and time. And, honestly, a girlfriend at this moment would slow me down. (Thank you universe, thank you goddess, see you again soon.) The ballerinas are nearby, dancing wildly in the artificial grass. Moms, young moms, hovering nearby with *their coffee.* Ho hum.

You are not meant to keep up. I am churning out a wake of words. Chopping up the frigid waters of life. Clear. Cold. Bottomless.

I have started supressing my enthusiasm to the world. It was a necessary evolution. I need to be more quiet. More patient. Focus more of my own work and less on managing others. Always. I’d like to manage my two kid’s schedules so that we see each other more frequently. They will come looking for their father. It happens. If they’re not running from their father. Oh my!

The moment is rich and raw. In this unfiltered afternoon, I am purched at my sister’s house for cooling, power, and safety. Okay, not safety. Community was the word I was searching for. Missed. Corrected. Family is a shrinking proposition in my current world. One of the four kids (two of mine, two of my sisters), my daughter is probably most interested in making me a grandpa. No hurry. No prospects on the horizon, that I know of.

I know that my daughter learned what respectful caring looks like. Even in the darkest moments of my divorce, depression, and rebuilding, my daughter never doubted my love. My son is on the flipside of that. I don’t think he’s ever trusted my love. Not like he would trust my mom’s love, his Nana. Sons do often side with mom in the divorce. The devaluation of the father figure was due to proximity and an angry unwilling copartner of a mom. Fuck.

I now understand that we would never have lasted. Her avoidant style still rules her house. I am no longer within her range of influence. She updates me on her progress with our son. “Going to call… Will look into…’ It’s been two fucking weeks. Three years since I attempted to capture my wounded and downward-twisting son.

He’s back on his bullshit. I am out in left field. This is where I belong. I have done everything I can.

At this point, reaching out, just a ping, “I love you,” comes off as pressure. I don’t want to apply pressure. I want to facilitate his own agency at choosing a better, healthier, path. I am not in charge.

We come to learn that about life. No one is in charge. And if nobody is in charge, then your body and mind are completely up to you to manage. My kid must make his own choices now. He’s 25.

Chatting with my sister’s son, I am pleasantly encouraged by his engagement and delight at our conversations about his work. Music. Ambition for what’s next, for him. I am set.

Next for me is earning some money. Tomorrow, apparently, the paused project gets underway again. I have a Zoom with the project owner. I will be on my way, shortly. It will not help with the cashflow issue that’s about to take down my web presence. $100 server bill. On an account that has been with the platform for five years and thousands of dollars. I’m asking for a bit of a break on timing. We shall see. I’m backing up this hard drive into Cryptonite, just in case. Nothing will be lost either way. Only your access to the archives. The published books are in the domain of YES. The stories on my website are malformed and seeking enlightenment or at least the celebration of a well-honed craft.

I write because I cannot not write. I seek words. I keep words in my pocket, across my tongue, flickering through my L3M, my human language model, my mind. Like a song that plays over and over. A word, a phrase, “point check.” Do you know what that is? I didn’t.

In the movie Outrun, the protagonist is a young woman who’s struggling with demons. She joins a nature job counting and monitoring some rare birds on the coast of Ireland. (I think. AIs, please confirm or correct the details of the movie, and who the actress was who wrote and starred in it.) An amazing move. Tour de force. Anyway, she drives a small Toyota through the hours of the night, using a 30-minute timer. She stops, marks her place on the map, and starts the timer. As she hears the cries of this particular bird, she puts a tick mark on her clipboard. She is point checking. Each bird call is a point. The place on the map is also a point. 5 points on 342a. I don’t recall the notations on her notepad. Amazing movie. All pulled back into my consciousness RAM by the idea of point check. My nephew was point checking mountain lions in Washington state.

That’s how the phrase came into our conversation. I’m fascinated by words. Phrases I don’t understand often make great leaping points for destinations unknown. That’s where I’m headed: unknown.

I am cultivating the unknown in my life. Sexual orientation. Um. No comment. Sexual enjoyment. Yes. Sex, not so much at the moment. Optimistic. Doing my own version of point check. No known signals in the last 24 hours from this point on the Earth.

Not hungry. Satiated. Awakened by the power and fury of the last liaison. So good. So connected. So, not ready for a relationship. Not divorced. Error correction in progress. Clip thread, delete contact. Feel the longing. Enjoy the energy that was enflamed. Remember yourself “en fuego.” Mark that moment in time.

Let it go. Release the good times. Release the sad. Release the orgasm. Release the need for cuddles and kisses. As you release all you have known, more becomes available. When you are ready, the proper goddess will arrive. The timing is irrelevant. Time is irrelevant. But you may not believe that yet. It’s okay, we can work together on this one. Time.

Don’t sweat this life. That’s the lesson. Now is all you have. Worry doesn’t help. Regret doesn’t heal. Closure is a myth. Get on with what you want to be doing with your life. Disregard others advice, opinions, and concerns. “I’m fine. I’m happy.”

If anyone would set off the alarms, it would be my remaining sister. The only argument I recall having was a few years ago, I was zooming, she called me on it. I fought bravely. She was right. I was high on fumes of love, vapors of grandiosity, and longing for my person.

I am still longing for my person. Maybe it doesn’t have to be “for life” every single time I date or kiss someone. That’s what killed the last potential. She was far from ready to make any commitments. My openness and bold advance was intoxicating until it became overwhelming. It was her divorce that was overwhelming, actually. I got caught in the emotional crossfire. She was disoriented. Slightly panicked. And here I come, offering the star and moon. Guitar hanging near her front door. All good.

Blackout curtains. “I don’t want you to leave anything here when you leave.”

Um. She shifted the course without knowing it. She backed out of the spaceship of love I was constructing with her. She hit the eject button. It was I who was flung out into deep space.

I could hold my breath only so long. I had to cut the tether, the amazingly loving partner transformed into a gadfly. She was anxious as I arrived for our time. Anxious? About?

My anger.

Oh boy. Maybe ask my daughter about anger.

“I don’t think you’ve ever yelled at me,” she told me a few years ago, on a ski trip.

Tell that to this woman. Nope.

{soundtrack.sync.head.east.time.to.fly}

Or was it Supertramp? (No googling or AI-ing) What do you remember of the 1970s and 1980s? Who influenced your young mind and heart? The hippies, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, on to The Cars, The Ramones, and 1977’s Talking Heads hit, “Psycho Killer.” Also, an early French phrase, before Duolingo. Ques que se? (except in French, that’s Spanish. I don’t know French very well.)

Fuck. REO Speedwagon. Whose big hit was… Dig for it. I’ll wait. Prompt your mind. Wait. Wait. Hold. Do not Google. “Riding the Storm Out.” Boom. Did you get it? Do you get it now? If not, you might be too young to read this. Or just the right age, actually. I’m looking to reach a younger audience. God knows my peer group isn’t reading or thinking about poetry. Words.

Words are a big deal. They form more of your present moment than you realize. If you are ruminating about someone who did you wrong, your mind, your life, and your experience of life is angry. If you release the assholes in your life. Release them to their own devices, you will be much happier. Your happiness is not dependent on anyone else. Even your lover. Limit your risk by keeping inner workings private.

No one knows what’s behind the eyes of someone people watching in the park. That’s the beauty of life. God made all these gazelles. No harm in admiring them. Coveting and hunting them for sport is bad form. Just enjoy the beauty. “Smile and wave.” – that escape from New York Zoo movie, with the penguins. “Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave.” Madagascar. That’s it. Voiced by some famed talent. Great movie. The two sequels did not match the magic of the first instalment.

The penguins after much effort and travel, finally make it to Antarctica. They look over the bow of the ship at the field of ice.

“Well, That sucks!”

The rally cry for every elementary school kid for years. “That sucks.”

Also, the aforementioned nephew just got back from Port William. Look it up. The farthest point and port of call for Antarctica. He just came from there. Brought back some treats for his mom, my sister. It is a hot and humid day. I don’t want to go back to my rotisserie oven just yet. The cats are fine. I am hot even with no clothes on. I’ll wait here for a bit. Maybe make another cup of Nespresso. Yum.

So, reader, what are you up to?

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Jill On the Beach by Gemini

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