If could, and I bet I could, hell-I know I could
write a song that killed anyone who tried

to wrap their throat around it. I’m writing the first
verse right now, riding the rhythm like your mama

straddling the preacher while your daddy looks on
with a mouth full of every moan he can’t have.

Ain’t that what you really want? A stadium full
of white people screaming your stage name

and a smashed guitar where your dick used to be.
Ain’t that what you deserve? God is the only reason

I haven’t already held you down and spat the hook
into your mouth like a poison that will kill us both.

Saeed Jones

Your grief is so heavy,
when we lowered the coffin,
all the pallbearers fell in too.

Your grief is so heavy,
when you cried your last good-bye, the end
of the world said “nigga, get off me!”

You love your mama so much,
Freud came back from the dead
just to study your sorry ass.

You love your mama so much,
when she died, our mamas died too
Some of our favorite aunties caught strays.

I miss you so much,
I don’t even use the word “hello” anymore.
Now, I greet everyone with “good-bye.”

I miss you so much,
sometimes I go to strangers’ funerals
and eulogize your ghost.

Your ghost cries so loud
our ancestors keep haunting me
to complain about the noise.

Your ghost cries so loud
I took my Black ass to a Klan rally
for some candle-lit peace and quiet.

Saeed Jones

I am looking forward to reading books written by Vietnamese authors:

• A Man of Two Faces, a memoir by Việt Thanh Nguyễn
• Banyan Moon, a novel by Thảo Thái
• Nothing Follows, poems by Lan P. Dương
• Owner of a Lonely Heart, a memoir by Beth Nguyễn

And then, night neons itself inside me and I begin missing you in loud new ways:

The sky burns itself bright then bruises black. Things fall from the sky and those things might be water but could just as well be boys or bombs or billionaires or birds. Honestly, between your death and me, it doesn’t matter or I don’t know or I wasn’t looking or I couldn’t see because I’ve made a home out of how much I miss you and there’s no one here to tell me I should leave.

Alone and night-neoned, I write read drink drug grieve and all America keeps teaching me is that there are so many ways to die in America which, frankly, is qwhite confusing because this country killed you a decade ago and I’m still writing reading drinking drugging grieving binging binging blacking out in the cozy, claustrophobic home I’ve made out of how very, very much I miss you and the sky keeps throwing down consequences and corrections and histories and nations, I mean, come on, who can blame me for not wanting to go back outside? You? A whole decade ghosted, grounded and ground down into unreliable memories, dollar-word metaphors? No, not you, mother as mortar and pestle, mother as son mangling meaning out of his mother’s misfortune, mother as second draft: sorry, but it’s awfully true: you are prelude, and your progeny, loud and unrelenting in your epilogue, somehow has to live on as your last sentence, uncompleted.

Saeed Jones

Reporter James R. Hagerty has written more than 800 obituaries for the Wall Street Journal; therefore, he knows what it takes to write a life story. No one is better at telling your story than yourself and you can start writing right away. On this blog, I have a goodbye category, in which I write brief tributes to the people I had known. I also have a personal category, in which I write about my life. This blog is my obituary as well.

Tôi sống trong một trong những đất nước hiện đại nhất trên thế giới hơn 30. Thế nhưng lối suy nghĩ của tôi vẫn rất cổ lỗ sĩ. Tôi vẫn chưa gia nhập với thế giới xăm. Tuy nhiên, tôi vẫn tôn trọng tự do của cá nhân. Thân thể của ai muốn làm gì thì làm. Cũng như phá thai hay không là quyền chọn lựa của phụ nữ. Tôi không có ý kiến gì cả.

Gần đây tôi trở lại Facebook và đã bị lôi vào những video clips. Đa số là xem những sinh hoạt trong nước. Mấy hôm nay tôi xem một thanh niên trong nghề xăm. Anh ta có cửa hàng chuyên về xăm. Có một clip anh giới thiệu một anh Việt Kiều về nước nhà gắn bi. Lúc đầu tôi cũng không hiểu cho lắm nên cũng không để ý. Hôm nay tôi mới khám phá là gắn bi vào vương vật để tăng cường công lực lúc quan hệ tình dục. Gắn bi để cả hai được phê.

Dĩ nhiên tôi chẳng bao giờ tin tưởng những tay xăm để bắn những hòn bi vào nơi nhạy cảm nhất của tôi. Hơn nữa tôi không bị vấn đề vươn lên. Ngược lại tôi cũng cảm thấy nguy hiểm cho người đối tác trong lúc quan hệ. Lỡ như những hòn bị chạy vào miệng hoặc vào âm đạo thì sao.

I read Timothy Goodman’s corny-ass love in Paris in one sitting. He’s right. The love is corny as fuck, but his prose saved the story. His writing is concise and lyrical. The art part is hard to read though. I skipped that.

Tôi đang lừa dối em
Mà sao em không biết
Những lời nói tình duyên
Với tôi không cần thiết
Chớ nên thề thốt chi
Ðùa vui thôi đấy nhé
Say đắm và si mê
Sẵn sàng đang nhạt nhoè.

Tội nghiệp quá, xây những lâu đài cát mơ
Biển vắng trong chiều sắp mưa
Tình cũng như là đám mây mịt mù
Tình là nhớ, xin nhớ không lừa dối ai
Ðừng nói câu chuyện lứa đôi
Tình cũng như dòng nước trôi.

Khi tôi tìm đến em
Là tìm vui trong chốc lát
Ðến một lúc rồi quên
Nhớ nhung không cần thiết
Khi em hiểu rõ tôi
Yêu nghĩa là phai phôi
Nghĩa là mang hận hoài.

Phạm Duy

Simone Stolzoff’s The Good Enough Job comes at the critical moment of my own career evaluation. I fell into the conventional wisdom of following my passion. I believed that if I worked hard at what I loved to do, I would become successful. I spent over 20 years of my career from a web designer fresh out of college to work my way up to become a design director. Now I am on the brink of losing everything. A director title doesn’t mean anything. I have come to accept that money, power, and privilege overrules passion. I am in the process of separating my identity from my job and my self-worth from my output. Fortunately, I am not alone and Stolzoff has the proof through his interviews with people who have burned out, become disillusioned, and find meaningless in what they do. It is an essential book for anyone who wants to reclaim their life from work.

We work too hard.
We’re too tired
To fall in love.
Therefore we must
Overthrow the government.

We work too hard.
We’re too tired
To overthrow the government.
Therefore we must
Fall in love.

Rod Smith