Monday, February 22, 2010. Sunday, February 7, 2010. I come to you, foolishly, wisely. You drop a silver coin in my hand, saying. Such as this you will become. I want to be brave. To be untainted, to be free. To love, to know and be known. To mingle my soul with yours. But it seems that the hellish traces of my fractured self. Can only be burned away and consumed. By the most harrowing of fires. With a gravity and smoke.

Thursday, July 8, 2010. Monday, July 5, 2010. When the baristas arrive to work at five in the morning, they find me pacing back and forth in the dark parking light, chain smoking and talking to Renee- the only other person up at such an ungodly hour. Not even coffee-slingers have the ability to speak that early. They grunt at me and I follow them in.

I woke up this morning with an immediate desire to pray, which seems rare these days.

On May 10, 2009 by Gary Giaimo. After the 9 hour drive, I arrive at my destination. My father looks older, moves slower. My stepmother is the same. I have yet to be able to pick up where we left off. I am happy that I have driven up, that I have seen him. For all of his faults, he is my father, and half of me is him. I am reminded of how funny he is, and we laugh a lot. On May 1, 2009 by Gary Giaimo.