Weasel Words
(Canada Poems: Recap and resume)
Narrator enter stage left.
If you’re following this ferret track of a life, I offer thanks and apologies. If you have happened on this through one of Medium’s algorithms (Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi they are not) … well, I apologize for that as well. I’m writing out/rooting out the pieces that hurt me and made me; that I have avoided due to shame or sadness or willful disregard of good advice. They are many and it’s going to take a while, and as I write them I’m not seeing much special or useful to anyone else. Maybe I’m wrong and all y’all are just soaking this up. …
I am seeing these bits linked together outside time and space by odd themes I’ve not seen before now (and a few I was aware of). Words. Fire. Maths. Music. Loss. Love. Men and Women (cool song there). Children. Teaching. Friends. There are more.
In Spokane I solidified my story. Yes, my parents were dead, and all my other relatives long gone. Yes, I’d had a girlfriend in California, but it hadn’t worked out. No, I don’t want to talk about it. No, I’m mostly not gay (I have deep affection for people and total affective paralysis in general. I have no girlfriend). I’m learning to smile. I’m a professional chef (a Toque blanc, a certified cuisinier, working on boulangier). This is my second career (I used to play music for a living). I read a lot. No, I don’t ski.
Once in a while I would take an instrument out of storage and let it sit around the house awhile.
