a priori/a posteriori

Monday, November 27, 2017

Some Days I Feel Less Like a Father

And more like the roommate of a woman raising a baby.

I feel connected to the baby but not entirely to the process of raising it.

I feel like I’m using the pronoun “it” too much

But also it smiles

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

We are the News 2

A kid gets to see her grandparents for Thanksgiving.

A baby gets to have his first Thanksgiving tomorrow. He thinks the world is mostly being held and being fed. Because so far it is.

A million teachers get a half day. So do 30 million students.

A car starts. People call their families. People travel because they love their family more than the stress it takes to see them.

It’s Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving. A great day

Friday, November 17, 2017

We are the News

A doctor did a really good job today.  You probably didn't hear about it on the news.  But it happened.

A baby was brave, today.  He let a doctor examine him without crying. 

The weather was beautiful today. 

Water is delicious.  Better than any other drink. 

A girl was strong today. 
A neighbor was caring.  A boss forgiving.  A partner was willing to sacrifice.
What an incredible news day.

I came to this site because I decided not to go to any news sites. 

I hope we write the news again tomorrow.

Monday, November 13, 2017

In the Car...

You can't really run away from your family, in the Internet age. You can't "go out for cigarettes"

Never to be seen again.

They'd read about it in your blog the next morning. I'd post about my new apartment in my new town, hoping to get more reads.

So instead, I write. I write into the my website.

I run away, for seven minutes at a time,

And then when the engine is warm,

I look up, push my foot on the brake, my thumb on the release,

And I drive off a cliff, or into outer space,

Or seven blocks north to Harris Teeter,

Whichever comes first

In the Wilderness

That's what it feels like, as I swore my way through half-assed blog.

Wandering through the wilderness.

My father hiked the Appalachian Trail. Like, about 2000 miles of it.

A generation later, I admire the courage I have to write a blog.

I wonder what our children will congratulate themselves for.

I'm off to get Vanessa a pack of cigarettes. Or as our generation calls them, "soda."

Tuesday, November 7, 2017

If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Write...

then for God's sake, write SOMETHING.


Seriously.  Don't just sit there, on your couch, doubting your ability to connect with the rest of the world.  That's silly.

If you have a dream, then start paddling.  Even if you're going in the wrong direction, your arms will be stronger once you realize it's time to paddle the other way.

Love doing something without apologizing for the quality of your product.  Nobody pops out a 30 year-old man.  If you want to raise a child, you have to guide it during all the times that it makes mistakes.

That is writing.  That is creativity.  You start an idea with the same irresponsibility as the sex that creates a child. 

The struggle of raising that child -- and teaching and guiding it, through all of its mistakes -- is what being an artist is. 

It is no more glamorous than being a parent.

We're all rooting for ourselves.

Because our art is what our childrens' worlds will be made of.

Like the spaghetti houses, in that one children's book. 

With that old Italian lady.
Our art is spaghetti houses. 

Sunday, October 29, 2017

Learning the World is Fluid

I've always been a rigid person.  I've always wanted there to be a way to "win" at life.  I wanted things to be in writing.  I wanted lists.  I wanted a "right" and a "wrong."  I wanted a way to know I was better than you.

It just doesn't work that way.  The world is fluid. 

Everything is going to be okay.