noah yourself

Month: April, 2012

so much submitting

submitting proposals, submitting stories, submitting applications, submitting ideas, submitting vulnerabilities into the open air



So here is the thing. God didn’t give Noah an ark, he told him to build one.
Build it or drown.

speaking of mothers

My goddamn godmother is back in the hospital. I lost count of those visits years ago. Now I count years we’ve been doing this.

I’m not sure why, when mother’s day is coming I think  more about how much I hate that woman instead of thinking how awesome my actual mom is.


I feel like a lot of things I write here, I can mull over. I can pick and choose the words. I function on my time.

This is a real time thing. My therapist got into the relationship between my mother and I today. We discussed the way that it is not my instinct to need my mother. She asked me two things:
Do you think it could change?
Would you want it to change?

The first question felt like I could say yes. Our relationship has evolved so much in the last several years.

The second I found myself stammering over answers. And the truth is in this moment I don’t know. I sometimes wonder what it is to feel like you need your parent… This closeness that I recognize on other people.
But what would be the point now?
I find myself almost experiencing an angry feeling, or maybe frustrated. Why would I change this now? …if it were even possible. What good would that do?
I feel like it would be the same as me offering extra hugs because she wants them, or checking in because she needs that, it would be another way to take care of her by lettting her take care of me.
I responded to Kelly with something confused sounding and in the same concept at my ‘whats the point’ remark and she said, “so, no, you dont want it to change then?”
And that felt wrong too. I dont know if it felt wrong because I feel guilty for admitting that or if there is something i’m not admitting to myself.

yeaaaaaaaaaaah. real time feelings.

Did you know?

Did you know that sometimes I think in color?

Sometimes when I can’t find words, it is because I have to make them. I have to translate a pulsing red or a really bright white into a thought and into words that I can share.

When I fall asleep I fall asleep in blue, and when I’m at my most peaceful it gets hazy and white in places.

And the color moves as if the color had a breath, but it’s my breath.

This isn’t metaphor, it is just the way my brain works sometimes.

some thoughts on need

(this is a lot, and yet it is still nothing. I never realized how hard
it would be to sit down and write this. I cannot even form it into
coherent pieces yet. I’ve been typing bit by bit for months. The
discipline for me is in the continuing to type, continuing to chip
away at it. )

what if you say what you need and you can’t have it
what’s the point
what if you need things you know you can’t have. why speak them aloud
and further the injury

i needed a talking family. i was the sensitive one, go figure.
i cried at every emotion that came in too big a size. too happy, too
sad, too frustrated.

we weren’t a talking family.


I need to be honest. Sometimes my need is to tend to somebody else’s
needs. It is not a matter of neglecting my own, let me be clear. It is
not that I do not have them. It is not that they are unrealized.  It
is that my needs do not always compete with those of whom I’m loving
in that moment.

Sometimes what I need is to be given the chance to feel like a mensch.
I need the opportunity to hold the door, or pay the check, or make the
dinner, or do the things. Not because you cannot… but because it
swells my heart to be that guy, it boasts me up to know that I can
love well.

I have been thinking much about need. About mine, about how I make my
needs small or I don’t name them. I’ve been thinking so much about
this all the while my mother keeps calling me. Asking me what I need,
if she can do anything for me, she says just ask. I laugh in my head
because I can’t remember needing my mom. I mean, of course I love my
mom, and I need her because she is my mom. But at point of stress or
pain, I’ve never recognized a feeling in me that felt like needing

I’d be silly to think that none of this has to do with the things that
transpired when I was younger. That seeing her so vulnerable has made
me see her a certain way, has made me fear vulnerability in a way that
I can hardly describe.

Not needing is like an art, something crafted over time. It’s a
protectiveness. Art is the wrong word… I feel like I should be
writing about fossils instead.
Even with all these things between us, I don’t feel so protective over
myself that I would say I don’t need you.

What a frightening thought if there is a correlation between my
feelings about need and my parents and needs and a partner. To be
clear, I don’t think i feel like I need to protect myself from my
parents. Maybe it’s that being protective of them is sometimes
communicated by withdrawing my needs.
What I Need in Conflict

I need to be heard first without criticism, eye rolling and impatience
I need to be touched as reassurance because for me that is as
important if not more important than words in communicating.
I need to create a safe space to go back to. A middle ground to return
to because sometimes there is no such thing as “not going to bed
angry” but there has to be a way to walk in and out of conflict, to be
able to return to it, but also return to your person and say “hey it
is still me you’re looking at”- some place made by both sides.

You broke me too.

I’ve heard more affirming things from you in the last few months than
I had in the last several of our relationship

The insecurities you hate, you exacerbated them.

This is equally on me, because I didn’t name when I needed tenderness,
or encouragement, or criticism. All of which I can take and do need,
just in different times and places.


What I Need in my Days
I need to wake up slowly. It can be in arms or with coffee.
I need to know what to expect (at least in some senses) because
sometimes the anxiety of unknown is sometimes an overwhelming thing.
I need the space to time out.
I need coffee before 10am… before 9am… ok really 830 am
I need to be hugged, held, touched,
I need sometimes to be reminded that someone wants to know what I think or feel
I need to feel purposeful
I need to feel like I have a place
I need a way to communicate that it’s ‘one of those days’ without
feeling like that makes me bad or crazy
I need levity to balance out all the other stuff
I need to do something physical- lift boys or weights, take a long
walk or ride, have a tumble or a wrestling match, roll dough
I need normal things, some ounce of routine. It doesn’t have to be a
schedule. It could be just the way I say good morning, or how I put on
my socks.
I need something to do with my hands while I talk about feelings, to
cut an onion, or clean a dish, or to drive… I miss talking and
I need affirmation that I can think or dream out loud. That may seem
like stupidest thing, but it is probably this biggest.


There is no amount of filling up my time with things that let’s me forget that days like this I should be walking off dim sum, holding hands the funny way.


An hour and a half into sitting at this coffee shop this woman’s staring problem has not ceased. I’ll tell myself that I’m too handsome for her to tear her eyes away from me.

I get my hair cut at a men’s salon now, like a dandy, my brows done and hand massages. Odd, that experience is easier to swallow than crossing the street after a cut and having a cup of something warm.

The stares are different… the stares that tell you you’re odd, different, other. There is a too brown stare, or a wrong outfit stare. There is the more common you just don’t look like everyone here stare. There is the queer stare, and the masculine queer stare. There is the we don’t know what you are stare, here let me look a little longer until I know stare.

Jessica was with me on the porch, entertaining me during a cigarette and saw some people walk by and throw and extended gaze our way. “Oooh, that one felt different,” she said. She knows the different stares and the level of threat they each come with. Like the terror levels from homeland security…yellow, orange, red.

This one is only a yellow.

Prodigal theater kid?

For this I’m doing set design and building

Sitting alone at home

Sitting alone at home I face my chair towards the door as if expecting someone to walk in. Coffee smells the same and I make coasters out of napkins for my other drinks. I feel the weight of my feet as I lift them to my desk, I feel the weight of my mug as I lift it to my face. Everything is so quiet.

Sitting alone at home I regret my silence. I say words out loud as I write them, to hear the way they balance on my tongue and if they tip to heavy forward. My fingers, like my voice, hesitate over letters. Still they type, and words are made and I read it over and think that speaking and writing aren’t all that different but aren’t all that the same either.

Sitting alone at home I feel the weight of absence, different than the feeling of being one person in a space. The subtraction of what was there and what is left is as clear as any elementary equation. If you have this, and this goes away, what is left? One. And what of the reverse equation?