Posts by John Blase

And darkness was upon the face of the deep. That is until the sun began its rising. At first   I despaired because the shapes were so like yesterday’s. But then I listened, and was told   No, it is today – the quintessence of love. Go, be Adam. Name everything. Not again, but anew.…

He came in from another long day on his summer job and because I’d been home a few minutes I had some news. Not new news. Just same old exile news. “We killed another black man today.” He sighed. I sighed. I’d swear the kitchen sink we stood at sighed. One of us, I can’t…

male who regularly gets lost watching aspen leaves shimmy before sunrise? And by lost I mean like fifteen minutes easily, with the occasional twenty. And I said before sunrise, but (full disclosure) this lostness often occurs before sunset too. No? Is that no, not at this time? Or no, never ever? Never ever. I see.…

Johnny’s son says his father and Waylon were always such good friends. Like brothers. Such good brothers. Icons of that half of The Highwaymen are painted black and white, two men of the old cut posed close enough with sweat hair and tooth smiles, never in a hurry for the next set. Such good brothers.…

Feeling bright-eyed, confident, and arrogant doesn’t do this job…You are far better off being lost in your work and writing over your head. ~ Jim Harrison, The Ancient Minstrel   Thanks for saying that, Saint Jim. They have given you your wings by now, right? So you can fly at last alongside those Chihuahuan ravens…

It is akin to the guilt the survivor feels at being the one who somehow someway endured the accident that thieved the lives of so many others. That’s how it sometimes feels when I think of my father. Why can I give testimony of this man’s unbroken worship when so many others are wrecked again…

Thankfully evenings stay lit longer now and we built of lazy bones and lazier cartilage can stoop-sit poor-postured while the radio remembers Summer Wind. These golden duskings are incantatory, and its so good to feel slightly foolish once again.               

What will my great tragedy be? The one that will knock on my door and demand all my mettle. God knows there have been plenty of lessers, and I could think they all add up to cut a tragic figure. But I don’t. I still wait for the one, the definer. I don’t obsess over…