In by Wyatt on September 12, 2016 at 4:36 pm
I was nervous.
You’d been in your mama’s belly for so long. I was walking down the hallway, wondering how to be with you, hold you, love you. I saw you, scooped you up. An unkown ventricle in my heart opened and a new flavor of love erupted through me.
When I woke up, Lara said I’d been laughing. I remembered the warm weight of you, so important and tiny. You saw wonder in my face. I saw the explosion of a timeless universe, which now had you in it.
I loved you in a dream, my daughter. One day.
In by Wyatt on August 4, 2014 at 9:53 am
It’s as simple and impossible as looking at light. Our eyes see light, but our brains see objects. If you can turn off your brain, and just see light, you’re halfway to being a great photographer.
Light is soft in the early morning. Its color changes throughout the day, from cool to warm, to cool again. It bathes faces and bounces around rooms. When you see only light, objects become shapes and blobs that move over each other. Roads become two-dimensional lines. Reflections appear in unlikely places.
Then you’re seeing like a camera. And then you can take a photo!
In by Wyatt on October 30, 2013 at 9:34 pm
He emptied his business card holder into his desk bin and took out a tiny bottle of Jameson.
Two years, give or take an extra one month three days and five hours. He unscrewed the bitsy red cap and looked at the letter he’d just written, still warm from the printer.
What was next? Images of freedom and/or begging in the subway collided in his mind.
“You’re moving on?” Boss asked.
“Congratulations, I’m happy for you!”
The butterflies landed and a thin hard shell seemed to evaporate off his back. Outside, the sky stretched wide. He should call Cheryl!
In by Wyatt on July 25, 2013 at 1:55 pm
You ask what will I do with my life? Oh man. I dunno. I want to rid Australia of tall poppy syndrome. I want to apply psych research to creating a more just society through campaigns and clever storytelling. I want to revolutionize our broken education system. I want to smack sense into our politics. I want to move to Australia at age 35 and be fulfilled with the work I do there, while swimming in the ocean every day too.
I want it all. And yet, I could die or get paralyzed at any instant.
In by Wyatt on April 15, 2013 at 11:40 am
Yes — it does look green.
It also looks cerulean and magenta and ultraviolet – it’s the entire god-heaven-universe soaring down onto you, YOU, just you, in an elegant blaze of soft glory and frenetic licking energy, it has pace rhythm slowness speed, staccato flashes and deep crescendos and — it looks like music sounds, when I think back and remember that night on the northwest fjords staring straight up into the 2am ether I hear a chorus and taste flavors and feel tingling because GOOD GOD it is so enveloping and sensual that your whole body reacts viscerally to those magestic swirls…
In by Wyatt on October 19, 2012 at 11:52 pm
Punched in the sternum. Lightly bruised, subtly winded. Belly dropped, sunken. Tell yourself, Life is good. Believe it. It is. Was it better before?
Perhaps this vacuous sadness is merely the echo, the footprint of blinding permanence. We don’t believe anything is permanent, except life. Loss can’t be permanent. But silly child, you’ve got it all mixed up.
Some things are here now. But all things must go.
You can claw back and cling, anyone will understand. It won’t do, though. One cannot eat a memory.
Friends help. Love helps. Tomorrow this feeling will evolve into inspiration.
In by Wyatt on September 24, 2012 at 12:33 pm
And subtly tangled amongst this swarming, vicious, viscous sea of monstrous absurdity and violent sensuality was the very weirdest sight of them all: that the one most main-stream, pure, prudent emotion splurted from every act. Each tit-whipping, butt-wiping, smutt-liking, dick-pricking, mickey-humping, leash-dragging, clit-piercing, rub-taunting, hot-screaming interaction melted pain and sex together in the alchemist’s brutal cauldron; and there is dark magic and there is light magic and the difference is the spoon used to stir; and at folsom street that spoon was made of acceptance and truth and affection and love.
In by Wyatt on December 26, 2011 at 6:27 pm
I am, said a young woman in a business suit. She peered down at us through nouvelle-chic glasses and raised an eyebrow.
You didn’t think a responsibility like that would be entrusted to anyone else, did you?
Actually there have been many seven billionth persons, she continued. Last week one was born but the Syrian conflicts killed two hundred, bringing us back under. Hours later, a new seven billionth popped out. In Ecuador. A new war could set us back months. But it doesn’t really matter.
We stood, holding our popsicles, ignoring the juice running through our fingers.
In by Wyatt on September 21, 2011 at 4:46 am
With cheers they all smiled and hunkered down, comfortably cradling their hot cocoa or zealous masala chai. The room was warm with the heat of their eager bodies and a shy breeze brushed through the screen door.
“Who’s going to start?” asked Sarah, the most enterprising from day one.
“I will,” Matt offered after a tingling pause.
Matt glimmered. “You?”
Sarah’s cheeks darkened like the crepuscule and her cool confidence wafted away. Silently she offered Matt her hand and he led her to the private room at the back, all the others’ eyes watching them, sparkling.
In by Wyatt on September 19, 2011 at 3:34 pm
What exactly fits inside this familiar nugget?
Three months two days sixty-eight malaria pills fifty-nine gigabytes of six thousand photographs and a sliver of cloudy quartz nicked from the kenyan savana.
A sunny monday by a pool in which the water wiggles seductively.
A lost home whose temporality erased your mark and who flourishes on impossibly easily in your absence.
A crumbling redwood.
An opulent anemone wallowing in the salty shallows some meters under the fog.
A freedom, a plan, a sense of urgency, a delight in patience, more than a couple paradoxes and three melty squares of rich milk chocolate.