The other day someone registered at daht Calm.

Who are you, I asked.

They came back with Who are you?
And your prices are too steep.

So, instead of getting angry, I laughed.
Being anonymous, again, has been a desire of mine.

Then I gave them a year’s subscription.

Of course, they haven’t been back.

I blahg here now, mostly: http://fatherluke.org/FatherLukedawtCalm/drinks-are-on-me/

No other reason than because I do.

Join me if you want.

Or not.

(smiling)

- –
Okay,
Father Luke
Still alive, in Portland Oregon

F a t h e r L u k e .com [Click]

So wut’s different about it?

To those of you who have bought The Seven deadly Sins (you know who you are):

You’re going to be granted entrance, fully paid, for one year.
Some of you have gotten your books. Others are still waiting for theirs.

Some have expressed gratitude. Others impatience at the wait, then tolerance.
Others have been indifferent. To all of you I say welcome. Welcome to a new era.

Come right in, I’ve been waiting for you…

- –
Okay,
Father Luke

I’m listening to her in the other room reading Harry Potter to the kids. It’s the last book.

We’ve all had the flu for a few days. The kids have been puking, and Jenifer and I are sore, and tired beyond belief.

And you know what? It’s what I’ve always wanted.

It just is.

– –
Okay,
Father Luke

I used to facebook. There are a lot of things which appeal to me. I have disabled it, though, as there are quite a few concerns I am having with it.

Here are two links:

http://gizmodo.com/5530178/top-ten-reasons-you-should-quit-facebook

http://lifehacker.com/5538697/how-to-quit-facebook-without-actually-quitting-facebook?

- –
Okay,
Father Luke

Catching up with old friends is like taking a deep breath after being underwater for a long, long time.

Old friends know a little bit about your history, and sit back to hear what’s new. Good, bad, or otherwise, the listening is there — without judgment — and a free and easy dialog can happen.

Then, too, is the awareness that you are hearing another human being revealing, sometimes, painful personal things about themselves, which you can only listen to without the ability to change.

And somethings you wish you could change things, because the friend is in pain. After all, what kind of person wouldn’t want to help a friend in need?

But who can help the chicken out of it’s egg? If you do it too soon, the chicken dies. Same with the worm and the butterfly.

So, listening is the only thing to do. It’s okay to witness pain. It’s okay to see struggle. Being invited to participate in that kind of growth can be a frightening experience, and seeing a friend’s struggles can be a bad scene. But if the friend knows that it’s all a struggle, then watching them squirm out of their cocoon is a wondrous thing indeed.

I don’t have any children. I always wanted kids. And I’ve heard parents talk about the same kinds of pains watching both their children being born, and watching them grow.

We are all someone’s kid. Someone, somewhere, has seen each of our struggles, and knows us as we want to be known.

That’s the credit which is due for me today. I thank each of my friends who have watched me struggle without telling me I had to be a certain way, or do something in particular, save for not murdering or injuring anyone physically — which I am capable of doing — and those friends know who they are.

Letting me struggle may be hard, but thank you for that. I’ll be who I am because of your allowing me to make my own mistakes, not yours.

Thank you.

- –
Okay,
Father Luke

Oh. Not that old saw.

Yup. That one.

The reason I can chew food is because I have teeth. Old ones. Ones I’ve had for a while. The ones I’ve had which have chewed a million packages of Ramen Noodles.

Robert Crumb doesn’t think that anything good has been made in recent years. “Old is better,” he says.

So, old time wisdom makes sense to me. It’s wisdom, after all, because it has a knowledge based upon experience.

I was talking with an old friend tonight. One I hadn’t heard from in quite some time. Funny, isn’t it? How not talking with someone makes me think… “well. they’re just the same as the last time i spoke with them…” He wasn’t the same. And neither was I.

What is occurring to me is that many people in my life wish to remain anonymous. Even to me. It’s high time I let them remain anonymous.

It’s time I move on.

- –
Okay,
Father Luke

In current months I haven’t been writing from the heart. I’ve closed my website, and have cut myself off from what’s most important to me.

It’s hurt me to repress my words, but because I’ve loved someone I have held my tongue. And held it. And held it some more.

And now that’s done. Forgotten. And my? Doesn’t it feel good to be speaking from the heart once more.

- –
Okay,
Father Luke

I owe people money, and books, and letters. I’ve been wasting my energy, running in place, and “trying”. Bukowski was right — I shouldn’t have tried. If I saw him in this room I’d kick his fucking teeth in.

You’ll all be hearing from me quickly. I hate owing anyone anything, and this hasn’t been easy for me.

Sorry isn’t enough, but it’s where to begin.

Sorry. Talk with you soon.

- –
Okay,
Father Luke

Three things.

1.)

2.) Now go here: http://literarymary.com/forum/index.php?topic=11878.msg11316

LiteraryMary is open to the public for registration.

And I saved the best for last…
Hosho sent this:

Hello everyone,

Perhaps I’ve written you about this before–and perhaps you’ve even sent letters to the city council. There is a proposal before the Austin city council to name a park after small press giant Albert Huffstickler. Below is a link to email the council is support of it. The vote will be held April 22nd…so send this to any and every fan of the small press you know, and especially anyone who has even been moved by Huff’s work. If you’ve never read his work, do yourself a favor and look him up. He was superb.

http://www.ci.austin.tx.us/council/groupemail.htm

Take a moment, shoot them a quick email, and tell them you support the park being named after Huff–and re-post the link at bligs and whatnot so other folks can do the same!

Let’s let them know poetry still matters,
Hosh

Poetry does matter, H. And so does Huff. And so do you, and so do I.

And thanks.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke

I remember finding a mall when I was about seven or eight. It had to have been seven or eight, younger than that and I doubt I would have remembered much. At the mall were so many things. Foods… and cool foods, not meat and potatoes, but ice cream, candy, and snack foods… you know the real foods for a kid. There were games, decorative water fountains to throw coins into (and take them out of), escalators. And of course nice beds for when it got late and it was time to sleep. Why it never occurred to me that these were places of business that locked up at night, I’m not quite sure, but to a seven year old this mall was where I was going to run away to. There’s still a picture someplace of my brother and I dressed up to run away from home, our suitcases packed.

Jenifer took the kids and I to Oaks Park, in Portland Oregon, yesterday. My favorite ride was watching Jack-Jack eating the blue cotton candy.

The day was as nice as a yellow bow on a southern belle, and there were a few rain sprinkles, I mean it is Portland, after all. And I loved my time there. Rides, people, and the smells and sounds associated with carnivals, and amusement parks.

Afterward, we went to the grocery store and bought berries, juice, and sandwiches and drove back to the park to eat them in the car while we watched the park close down for the night.

The kids saw a blur of colors, people, and rides. All I saw was another place I would have run off to to live had I been seven again. And for just one afternoon, I pretended that I had.

The kids slept really well that night. So did their mom and I. I feel like I slept for forty years. By the time we reached home, the kids had slept forty years, and lived forty lifetimes.

And a little child shall lead them,…

- –
Okay,
Father Luke