Early 2009, a post on another blog by someone who I do not know (or perhaps, just don't recognize), "John Cadengo; your posts were inspirational." Like a silent prayer to the listening gods that's somehow found its way to me. I re-read my work from back then—not entirely satisfied with it, but still, it touched someone and that's what it's all about.
Later, much later, on a collective blog centered around the experience of being mixed race, a writer quotes an article of mine. Strange, but rewarding, to have my work treated seriously, to have it connect with others, to see how they do and do not resonate, and why.
Lastly, on another note, I am 26 today. I never thought I'd be 26 today or any other day. I'm more than a quarter century old. Wondering how I got here. The term shipwrecked more relatable than ever. Yes, quite dramatic, but so is life. Crusoe, Cobb, and Christ. Men who knew the value of ordinary time.
Two of the fingers on his right hand
had been broken
so when he poured back into that hand it surprised
him — it hurt him at first.
And the whole body was too small. Imagine
the sky trying to fit into a tunnel carved into a hill.
He came into it two ways:
From the outside, as we step into a pair of pants.
And from the center—suddenly all at once.
Then he felt himself awake in the dark alone.
— "Easter," Marie Howe