The Journey: Exercise 3

Day 14: Steal an idea from Thought Catalog and spend too much time thinking about your ex.

Hi, friends. Today's post is rather embarrassing for Patrick. So, my task for this exercise was to complete the thought, "There was something about the way he." That phrase obviously had me thinking about my ex for a couple of days, which made the exercise impossible for me. That was until I started reading things on http://thoughtcatalog.com/. Read it. Love it. It's a beautiful thing. Anyway, I was just minding my business, reading all the posts in the dating/breakups/feelings/romance categories when the site updated with its latest post titled, "I'm Sorry For Starting At You, Gay Couple." Obviously I had to click on it. After getting a couple paragraphs in I was finally able to write my response to the exercise prompt.

Here it is:

I'm sorry for staring at you.

I'm sorry for staring at you unsuspecting, undeserving hot/cute/great sense of fashion/perfect hair/fabulous dude.I definitely didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Trust me, I recognize the reality that you are probably not gay and have zero intention of ever being involved with me. I also understand that the fact that we were both downtown at the food truck at 1am on the weekend does not mean that we are clearly and incandescently meant to be. I get these things.

I'm staring at you not because I want to jump your bone or tear your clothes off immediately, not that I would necessarily mind those things, but because your mere presence activates in me some uncontrollable psychotic leap into fantasy. I fall in love with people so easily, and you just happen to be the person inducing my musings on true love and the intersections of human life today. Sorry, bro.

I'm staring at you because part of me is hoping that one day I will accidentally bump into the love of my life while waiting for a $14 haircut at Great Clips or buying manchego cheese.

I'm staring at you because you remind me of all the times a boy has held my hand, particularly the way he held my hand just after we had argued and I accused him (rightly so) of not actually caring.

I'm staring because I'm dumb. And, I apologize man with high cheek bones/flat abs/ chiseled arms/blue eyes/bright smile. You definitely did not deserve my narcosis today.

With Hope,

Patrick

p.s. Butttt, if you actually want to date me you should totally let me know. Okay, bye.

----

Well, that was it.

You should all totally tell me something embarrassing that you've been caught doing so I don't feel like the only dumb-ass out here today.

And, if you want some bonus reading, here is something I posted on Tumblr and y'all didn't get to see.

I’ve known my brother is gay for years, probably just as long as he has. He was invited to a birthday party, Lily’s birthday party, in the fourth grade. All eleven ten year old girls and my brother were sitting on the grass when Lily put her hand between her and Michael. And, Michael placed his hand there too, but he didn’t seem comfortable. 

In first grade they had all the students line up for the bathroom by holding hands. One day Michael was next to Paul in line. Everyone held hands to form the queue, and Michael didn’t let go. He kept holding Paul’s hand all the way down the hall, like his hand belonged there. Like there was nothing more natural in the world.

I didn’t know then, nor did I know in fourth grade. I figured it out in seventh just before Micael came out. Michael, Lily, Jordan, and I were laying in the empty lot next to our house the autumn of 2003 when Michael said he had a problem. “So, there’s this boy I like in our science class,” He said. “Bill,” we answered in unison. “Yeah, and I want to ask him out but I’m not sure if he’s,” “Gay,” we finished. “So you all already knew?” “Yup,” said Jordan. “Duh,” Lily responded. “I love you,” I whispered. He reached for my hand.

Peace out, y'all.

--pat 

The Journey: Exercise 2

Day 11: Drunk Writing For The Journey

The exercise: Write a list.

     Options include

• things on which I am an expert
• things I have lost
• signs of winter
• what is inside my body
• things people have said to me
• what to take on the journey
• things I have forgotten
• things to make lists of

Exercise 2: A photo example.

Also, for your entertainment, something I wrote.

He finds me asleep on the couch, book in hand. He doesn't want to wake me beacause he loves me, but he can't help himself. So, he removes the book from my grip and replaces it with his hand. Then, he kisses me, a gentle wake up call to a world of love. The sunlight streams through the open window, catching his hazel eyes as I smile a hello.

"I've missed you," I say.

"And I you."

----

Alright, y'all. That's all I've got for today. I haven't been writing enough recently to reach my deadline. I need about 2.5 posts a week, unless I messed up the math. I'm sure my more math savvy friends will let me know. I hope y'all are enjoying the changing of the seasons.

--pat

The Journey: Exercise 1

Day 5

I have yet to write anything. I've had some free time this week and I just haven't been productive. No letters to friends, no dishes done, no laundry, no cleaning. Anyway, I was also kinda holding back from the writing in order to get a journal specifically for this trip back to being a writer. I didn't get the journal.

So, the first exercise is all over the place. It does not call for any specificity. In fact, it basically just says write.

Some of my options include observations, lists, overheard conversations, memories, story ideas, and titles of things you are never going to write. Essentially the goal is to get pen on paper in whatever way I can.

Now, lists I've got covered.

There's an example of lists I make just about every day with some more lists attached to it. And, oh, there's a list of thank you cards I was supposed to send and never did.

I don't think writing more lists is going to help me with anything.

Maybe writing titles to things I'll never write will work out. My friend and roomie, Ali, and I have been making jokes all summer about the perfect memoir titles for us. Her's include "The Plastic Pancreas" and "When the Freckles Combine." 

Here is one I think fits me well.

Yup, I'm that's me.

I also like "Green Hat Pat: The story of a boy and his safety blankets."

"The No Fun Zone: the story of a man so boring even the British were bored."

"Sass Master Pat: Queer, Fabulous, and sometimes fairly Masculine."

"My Mom says I move at two speeds: Slow and Slower."

"I'm not an authentic latino: the story of a puerto rican man who gets his cultural knowledge from NPR's Alt. Latino."

Alright! I think that's all of them for now. Let me know if you have any titles to stories/books you'll never write in the comments!

--pat

A Journey Through Imaginative Writing: The Elements of Craft

Day 1

Hello, all. Inspired by the movie Julie & Julia, I've decided to write my way through one of my old creative writing textbooks. The book: Imaginative Writing: The Elements of Craft by Janet Burroway. The goal: to complete all 130 exercises in the book by this time next year. 

Now, not all the exercises will create full length pieces. So, I apologize in advanced for lists and fragments and incomplete thoughts. However, this blog as titled indicates a place for all my exercises in creativity.

My hope is that by posting these things online I will give myself a reason to write again. Maybe you all will enjoy the journey.

With Hope,
pat

5 Things I Love About Myself

1) I cry.
And when I cry
it's with you.
Tears falling down
with the thought:
I'm with you.

2) I'm with you.
You wake up
in the morning
searching for meaning
and you realize,
I'm with you.
Meaning is with
other people
and that makes
you feel good.

3) That when asked
what I love
about myself
I think of
a poem.

4) That I don't
really know what
love means right
now, but I'm
willing to try.

5) Unique.

----

That I don't really love any of the things I said, but that I accept that they are part of me.

When did you get your first boob?

do you really want an honest answer. well, i'll give you part of it, you've done enough creeping for that. I've never gotten any action. I think that much we could have all assumed. In fact, I've never even kissed anyone.

Whatcha wanna know?

Writer's block.

sorry.

Restless

Hope for tomorrow
comes with a price to pay: today.

Now is filled with empty moments.

Soft Icelandic music
plays while I stare at the page,
the wall,
your eyes,
the window,
the door,
your eyes,
the screen,
the keys,
your eyes,
my hands,
my feet,
your eyes,
my phone,
my pills,
your eyes,
the light,
the fridge,
and
your eyes.

You could say I'm obsessed with beauty.
Her beauty, his beauty, our beauty,
and the beauty of your eyes.

It's like being restless, looking anywhere else.

So I look again to remind me
of when you were near.

Then, I tear out the page
and let my mind clear.

what are you most afraid of?

http://phoenixfirebird.tumblr.com/post/2938318620/what-are-you-most-afraid-of

Glitter in the Snow

It's a quiet night for a walk.
Each step takes me farther past my lies.

A step for fear.
A step for courage.
A step for hating myself.
A step for love.
A step for drugs.
A step for pretending that I'm not.
A step for jobs.
A step for doubt.
A step for everything I'm not.
A step for death.
A step for life.
A step for inviting you in with open arms.
A step for a step.
A run.
A sprint.
A leap.
A jump.
A landing to the person I am.

I take a handful,
throw it in the air,
and watch the glitter in the snow.

Are you ready for the date partyyyy???

Yes, Annie, I'm ready. It's a little weird that you asking me on formspring.

Whatcha wanna know?

Would you rather be a great athlete, artist, or musician?

artist. I know I can't be great at the other two, and I would really love to be published.

Whatcha wanna know?

formspring.me

Whatcha wanna know? http://formspring.me/PhoenixFireBird

is there anyone out there?

is there?

I'm still Patrick

The rapid succession of breaths
masks the tears streaming down his face.

I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.

He mutters to himself as he sits
curled in a ball on his floor.
He rocks back and forth as if the motion
will somehow make him forget his emotion.

I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this anymore.

His heart pounds and he feels it in his chest.
His mind races, looking for a solution.

But he can't do this.
He can't do this.
He can't do this at all.

New failures and new disgraces,
a new year filled with old hopeless
mutterings of his old mantra.

I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.

NO MORE

No more failures.
No more fuck ups.
No more hatred.
No more racing.
No more tears.
No more faking.
No more masking what I'm feeling.

Fuck this panic.
Fuck this crazy.
Fuck this emotion that I'm feeling.
Fuck the old year and its meaning.

I am learning.
I am growing.
I am making myself earn it.
I deserve it.

Because.

I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.

Let's go.

Things to Work on

audio

These eyes are dammed--
built up from the weeks of unfeeling
bullshit.

My eyes are brown.
They have been for years.
It's all the shit they hide.
You think that's a smile.
You think I want to laugh.

I WANT TO CRY

I want to cry for every person
who ever learned
words can always hurt me.

These sticks, these tones,
they scar and burn me.
These words cut me
like razors across the soft
skin of my wrists.

I want to cry.

I want to cry for mothers who will never see their sons,
and fathers their daughters.

I want to cry for custody battles.

I want to cry for the soldiers on the fields.

I want to cry for anyone suffering,
for mental disorders and psychopharmacology.

I want to cry for Zoloft and Paxil and Ambien and Prozac
Abilify and Lexapro and

not feeling a FUCKING THING.

I want to cry for you ripping and pulling and shredding my heart.

I want to cry for the God that disappeared on me.

I want to cry,
and this long sigh,
this is me knowing I can't.

I can't cry.
I cannot ever, ever let these tears fall,
because I have to be strong.
It's a promise I made.
A man says forever,
and I won't walk away.

Dear God, Remake Me

I sit in my room listening to the music of my friends
and I notice that I want to be different.
Not from them, but from myself.
There's so much music on Tumblr today.
There's such a need for music today.
In my head there's a void to be filled.

Do you remember when I was BRILLIANT?

It's hard for me to reminisce

It's hard for me...

I want to dance. Do you understand?
I want something to occupy my whole being.
I hate when people ask if that makes sense.

Does that make sense?

I hate myself, but you can't save me.

You, tall, redhead, and freckled cannot save me.

Neither can you.

No one can save me.

Do I need saving?

Jake

18 and hearing me
without any chance of sound
to be alive without a doubt
he'll be the best that he can be

self confidence from years of doubt
means that he knows what he's about
and that's a smile, a silly joke,
a heart of love behind a mask

but still you see if you try
that someone cares when you cry

my writer's block interrupted by a back spasm

Next to Normal plays as I lay
on the ground of my dormitory box.
The music is slightly sad and picked
for the purpose of an angsty mood.
The scene includes past and present
journals strewn about the floor.
I read the old and stare at the new.
The snow is heavy and there's nothing to do,
like there's nothing in my head.

There's nothing in my head.

I move to stretch my back
and pain shoots down my spine--
neurons telling me that was a bad idea.
I wish they would warn me first.
Like, when there was a knock on the door
that I could have ignored.
But I opened it and you walked in.

I opened it and you walked in.

And now you need what I can't give.
There's music playing in your head.
It says love will come, but it's not here.
It says pain will end, but it is here.
This is pain, shooting through you,
and I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

untitled 1-5-11

I want so much to feel right-- to be in love and have a purpose.
I want so much to feel right.
I want it to the depth of my core.
I want it like brittle bones want milk, like writers want words, like lovers want each other.
I want it so much that I'm rocking back and forth in my chair.
back to the undefined emotions and destructive mood swings.
forth to hope filled days and emotionless nights.
back to drugless parties and sober minds.
forth to round white tablets and oblong green pills.
back and forth I teeter totter on the edge of meaning.
I'm so close to finding myself that it's like I've already lost just when I've begun to win.