his name is ben

i wrote the following for my friend, ben. it's the bio on his website.
and everytime i encounter another one of his stories i am more and more moved and inspired and in awe.
this man knows how to tell a story.


do you know him?
he was born. he spent his youth in alaska. in a cabin. without television.
he moved. he lived there. he lived here. he fell in and out of love along the way.
lost and found, so to speak.
his daughter steals his breath.
he picks up the pieces of her shedding skin here and there.
pieces he will never let you see.
does he sound familiar?
how much do you think you know?

let me tell you what i know.

that place between awake and dreaming.
he's from there.
the tufted cushions of silence between strangers.
he sits upon them, cross-legged and smiling.
the words tattooed on the back of your eyelids when you bite your tongue.
he can read them.
he grew up alongside the flicker of light and he'll walk barefoot through the pitch black of night to bring you a match.
his vision is six dimensional and he feels what images taste like.
his fingertips have eyes.
if he moves his hands when talking to you he is memorizing the room.
his fear is never of failure.
it is of the inability to adequately express himself.
it is of the story left untold.
let me put it this way:
he is an artist.
without boundaries.
sit for awhile and listen.
let him tell you a story.


give yourself an early holiday treat.
go read his latest post.

Memoirs of an Alaskan - IV

and then try to tell me you wouldn't buy a whole book of this.

(oh, and also send him some congratulatory love, would you? he and my wonderful and amazingly talented friend, danielle, just recently got engaged. there's something in the water i tell you...)