Posts by John Blase

The Masculine Diaries Day 4

He eased open the sliding glass door leading outside to his back stoop, stepped out, sat down, and breathed in the gathering dusk. He looked down at his calves, certainly not the cannonballers he’d dreamed of long ago. He’d actually looked into calf implants while at college, not seriously but curiously. That was a time…

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The Masculine Diaries Day 3

Tell her I wasn’t scared. That was the line, clear as day, that he woke up seeing. What it was tied to—dream, vision, nightmare—he had no clue. He wasn’t shaken. Heart rate? Non elevatio. No beads of sweat on his brow. It was quite the opposite actually as he felt, well, the word is placid,…

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The Masculine Diaries Day 2

His yardman said Your tree is dead, beetle-killed, bark beetle. He really wasn’t a yardman so much as a friend, a good man who helped him each fall and spring with turning on and turning off his sprinkler system. His yardman friend added This was Mother Nature’s doing, nothing you could have done to stop…

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The Masculine Diaries

DAY 1 He lifted the seat to the toilet. How many times does a man perform that ritual over the course of his life? Surely someone has arrived at a number, taken a tally. He had no idea what that number might be, but it would no doubt fit well with the line If I…

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Still

Tall. Leggy. Almost all legs. Dear God. She sang “Skip to My Lou” and “Tippecanoe”— old songs she shouldn’t have known, but did. She pinned my boyish heart for the three count. See, sometimes losers win. We both had older brothers, and both brothers ran off to war. Only mine came home. She called him…

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Dear Winn – 11 April 2020

Dear Winn, Its been summerish here all week, sun shining bright, temps flirtin’ the 70s, and the second wave of kids in our neighborhood all out in the streets goofing off and riding bikes in that no-consequence no-hands carefree summertime mood of mind. And while its been beautiful to see, its also been disorienting because…

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Dear Winn – (does anybody really know what day it is?)

Dear Winn, I could have put a date stamp on this letter, but time has blurred on me, pal. I’ve lost track, seriously. Just the other day (maybe Wednesday? I’m not sure), I looked at the kitchen calendar multiple times throughout the day in an attempt to anchor myself, lash myself to the mast of…

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Makes Me Feel Fine

I tried to listen this weekend to a little coming out of Washington but my ears couldn’t make out anything that rang of compassion. So I quit. Everyone on that hill they’ve died on sings songs of themselves as they preen in ornate empty mirrors. The humane question where’s my reflection? sadly never occurs.  …

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Dear Winn – 21 March 2020

Dear Winn, A strange dawning today, my friend. About a foot of snow fell on Thursday, that wet, heavy snow that lingers long. Everything this morning is flocked, quite christmassy. Plus, our neighboring town of Palmer Lake lit their “star” yesterday—a grand astralation of bright bulbs on the side of Sundance Mountain which you can…

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Love in the Time of Corona

It was inevitable: the scent of a bitter bloom rising, opening, reminding u.s. Au contraire, you are not gods. Who shall be found still standing in fields of green once this virulent spring has wrung its dreadly course? For starters, he who hath clean hands, stayeth home, and toucheth not her face. Yet this we…

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