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Author Archives: Adamus

The Psychic Samurai

Today, I want to be a superhero. Truthfully, I want to be a superhero every day. I hold myself to superhero standards, changing whatever power I should have depending on the circumstances. I always fall short.

I hold myself to those standards anyway. Superhuman standards, a friend called them. Standards I’d never old anyone else to. That would be unreasonable. Standards I’d tell anyone else they’d need to relax. Cut themselves some slack. Give themselves a break. But not me. And if anyone tells me that, they just don’t understand – I have standards.

My friend Hayda once told me this:

Adam’s superpower is to eloquently, precisely and ruthlessly dissect his
adversaries’ logical fallacies and intellectual shortcomings in such a manner
that not only does he annihilate his opponent’s arguments, he leaves his enemy
in such a state that he is utterly unaware he has been defeated. He is a
Psychic Samurai.

I have held on to that. Isn’t it funny what affects us?

My wife once told me I was like a pit bull when I had a problem to solve and, in all things, “No one tries harder.”  How long ago was that? Was that nearly four decades ago now? No one tries harder. That somehow became my goal. To try the hardest. To never try less hard than I could. To never give less effort than I could. To be that superhero.

Just try your best. That’s all anyone can ask. I have been told this. But I know people don’t mean it. They wouldn’t want their surgeon to feel that way. Or a fireman. If the house burns down, if someone dies, standing among the ruins, the newly homeless don’t pat the fireman on the back and say, “You tied your best.”   Sometimes one’s best isn’t good enough. There has to be more.

Taoists tell us to never use more than 70% of our resources. There must be at least 30% left to attract and build new energy, so you can do ti again. So you can continue getting the job done, fighting that good fight, helping those in need, walking the walk. But why give 70% to just fail? Why just throw 70% out the window?

I know 110%, “I’ll give it 110%.” is a stupid thing to say. It isn’t possible.  But I know I can dig deep and find more.

But how long can one mine that energy? Without anything else present, if it is all spent, what is there around which new energy can accrete? But if one doesn’t, there is the higher possibility of failure. Better to burn out and get the job done, right?

Right?

Try the hardest. Even when a problem doesn’t have a solution. Even when the problem is a paradox. Even when there is no problem, but just life. Even when the solution is to stop trying and let go. Especially when it is to let go.

Thus, I am the world’s most unsuccessful superhero. The world’s largest superhero failure.   Even worse than The Blue Raja. A bigger flop than The Invisible Boy.

And the more I fail, the harder I try. How’s that working out for me? Not so well.

I’d better try harder.

 

 
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Posted by on January 29, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

I think I Am, Maybe

I think, maybe,
I’m made of fog,
settled overnight,
In the dark,
Seems solid
From afar, look,
Walk through it.
There is no substance.
It dissipates into
Air, the sun rises,
There is nothing there.

Do you remember fogs?

Or a ghost, maybe,
An accumulation.
An aggregate of
Used tos, weres
I remembers,
Definitions,
Suppositions,
And faint ideas.
Walk through it.
There is no substance.
It dissipates into
Nothing, the sun rises,
There is nothing there.

When no one is around,
Who notices a ghost?

 
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Posted by on January 26, 2018 in Poetry, psychology, Suicide

 

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I can Hear the Angles

I can hear the angels
Sing songs only the angels
Sing songs of being
Neither here nor there
Angels and those
Close to death
Sing songs often sweetly
Sing songs below hearing
For all those
Neither here nor there
Hearing the songs of
Angels and those
Near to being angels
Sing songs I hear
Everywhere.

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2017 in philosophy, Poetry, psychology, Religion

 

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James 2:14-26

 

Praying is what you do
When you pick up the shovel
and plant a tree,
Surrounding the roots with mulch,
Dirt under your fingers.

Prayer is what you have
When you cook a meal for someone
Who is ill. Give respite to a
Caretaker. Take on a task
Someone else would usually do.

Praying is visiting hospice
When you are tired of death.

Prayer is cleaning a toilet that isn’t yours,
Building a house you won’t ever live in.
Sow seeds for food you will never eat.
It is the knock on the door,
The letter in the mail,
The call on the phone.
Marching in the street.
Chaining to the door.

Praying is holding someone else’s hand,
Listening to someone else’s story,
Holding space after they have left.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2017 in philosophy, Poetry, Religion, Social

 

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Ode to the Philly Cheesesteak from Pat’s

Just because. Just because.

Just because I miss Philly. Just because someone close by got a local (Indian Harbour Beach, I think) cheesesteak and said it was the best anywhere.

Just because I want a cheesesteak with everything, and that includes ambiance and attitude.

Just because. Just because.

Ode to the Philly Cheesesteak from Pat’s

Oh my Philly cheesesteak–
I buy you
From Pat’s King of Steaks.
Fuck Geno’s across the street.
I order fast before
Counterman screams at me,
“Whadja want?
Dare’s people waitin’
In line!”
I order your divine
Slices of cow,
Yelling over the counter
“One Cheesesteak wid
And yo, don’t spare da sauce!”
He throws it at me,
Friendly-like.
Yeah.
Fuck Geno’s.

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2017 in Culture, Food, Poetry, Social, Travel

 

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Leaving

Adamus's avatarAdam Byrn Tritt

It is possible there is a perfect time to die. A time when the stories told of you would be of kind compassion and rambunctious joy. Those are the times. When you are filled with love.

Not when you are alone. Not when you are filled with despair. A time when people think of you and smile, not shake their heads and ask why. Not too late when you have been lingering. But when you are active and happy. Die dancing. Die walking the beach. Not in front of a TV.

But most people don’t get to pick their time, it seems to me. And those who do often pick the time of despair and loneliness, leaving more despair behind them.

The perfect time would not have been the time that I picked. And, realizing it in time, pulled back. No, that was two weeks too early. The prefect time…

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Posted by on October 5, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Remembrance of Things that Never Happened

I remember the last kiss
like the first one,
like it was yesterday and
a thousand years ago

We met. You asked
is it ok that
you’re in love with me.
I said yes. You said
yes. And much of a century passed
of adjustments, smiles,
arguments, love, more love,
kids. Gray hair,

Trips to far-away places
we talked about, visits
for graduations, weddings,
births, grandkids,
the passing of friends, parents,
comforting, resting in
chairs around the warm fire
in Winter, old bones,
and I don’t remember who died first, but
Oh God, I hope it was me.

 
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Posted by on September 5, 2017 in Family, Poetry

 

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Eclipse

For the Eclipse, and, really, for love, without which I would certainly have gone dark.

Eclipse

The sun and the moon
Have been with each other
Since time on Earth began,
Each following the other.

The sun wants nothing more than
To light the face of his beloved.
The moon, for her
Sun to rest.

But he is a creature of duty,
and does not stop.

Except, on occasion,
When she catches up with him,
Instead of shining on her,
She covers him with her body,
And he rests.

He rests. And the world stops.

He rests.

So seldom.

 
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Posted by on August 21, 2017 in Poetry

 

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The Walk

 

I’m going to take a walk
Down the street with
My eyes closed,
And trust
The cars will do the right thing,
Whatever that is.

There are no sidewalks
Here. Ditches and culverts
On either side sweep deep
From the narrow swale.
The foot can feel
The pavement drop
To grass,
Drop.

I’m told
Everything happens
For a reason. So let
Everything happen that will
And let there be reason made of it.

Frogs in one ear,
Cars in the other.
Streetlamps through eyelids,
And a slow steady gate into
Who knows.

 
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Posted by on July 26, 2017 in Poetry, Suicide

 

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Stars

In my room,
3am, I have woken to
The awe of the black heavens.
Eyes closed,
the stars are
Beautiful. Bright,
Filling the sky
On this cloudless night.
I scanned the far reaches,
Constellations unnamed,
Clusters, and lone lights,
Galaxies, Nebulae –
The glory of the dark
Whose depths are infinite,
Ineffable. And, all at once,
Gone

These stars
Only I got to see.
For however many minutes
There was a
Universe of one.

 
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Posted by on July 25, 2017 in philosophy, Poetry, psychology

 

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