where the writers are
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March 10





I isolate from you, I isolate from others, I isolate from friends, isolate from G-d, I practice connecting by connecting with my sponsor, practice connecting with my friends, practice connecting with G-d, finally I am able to connect with you, the first thing I do is isolate us from them, my sponsor, my friends, my G-d, they are all now on the outside of the bubble of us and I must start again, only now I must try to maintain the you and me connection while at the same time connect with the rest.  Are we still us if I am connected with them?  Are we still us if we are in the midst of the crowd I think of, the crowd I call, them?  Just because they see us as us, refer to us as us, are we still us if we don’t feel like us to me?  If I don’t know us in the landscape of hordes are we still we?  Isolation is an attempt at preservation, how can we best be preserved without being pressed in a book or jarred or jammed?  You say let us be, and I say that’s how I got us; are you sure that’s how I keep us? And you hug me tight.





Bloom with or without a garden






How quickly I am protected by a sweet smile
A disarming countenance and gentle phrase
Save my skin and psyche.

No longer do I defend my reputation as a wit or critic
I let it all flow by.
The simpler I appear the more effective the facade.

The energy I conserve not fighting loosing battles
Is well spent in the company of like minded sober friends
In the pursuit of sober lives.

I stay out of the fray and behind this partition
It's insides are posted with announcements proclaiming my opinions
And the lunacy of the person on the other side.

The reading of these notices
Does not persuade me to dismantle the enclosure