Gabe Redel's Blog: FRYING POTATOES BLOG
December 24, 2022
Talk to Me
Hello, if you've read my books, please feel free to send me an email.
My email is gabrielredel@yahoo.com.
My email is gabrielredel@yahoo.com.
January 10, 2021
January 13, 2019
Bookcase
Bookcase
by Gabe Redel
In the corner
of my small room is a bookcase.
On it,
I have placed many different items.
Most of them are tools.
One shelf has a few cans of gas.
At the bottom are the remains of some explosions.
Perhaps many explosions.
Another has a picture of when I lived
in a room
with a flimsy gold headboard
that had white orbs with pink flowers at the crest.
And I had a large black box
with a Sharp TV from the 90s.
The headboard and box
had been donated to me.
Down the hall
was a fighter soon to become a bank robber
who once entered my room
and remembered a scenario he had planned
in which he could kill me
to get out of this life
that he no longer wanted to live.
I also have a forest
and a trail through the forest
that leads to my dream.
And flowers.
I've placed so many flowers
in that bookcase
that it seems as if I now have two gardens
in my home.
But also I have many dead moods
and many chases that ended with fire spilling from my mouth
and burns on my hands and feet
and too many promises that I made to myself
I believed I would definitely keep
but never could.
Now I go back
and question what it all means.
I live in those books
once again.
Sometimes I read the stories
that have been written on my skin
and in my joints
and on the scars of my face.
But mostly I just see me.
I see where I was
when I picked them up.
I close my eyes.
The fighter who believed he could find freedom
in my death was wrong.
He could have found what he wanted at that time.
But he had so many years ahead of him.
He got what he wanted
when he robbed that bank.
When I knew that he was thinking
that he could have gotten what he wanted
by killing me,
I was disgusted.
Today, seven years later,
I've listened to worse
from the mouths of better people
than when I heard the thought
flash through his mind.
by Gabe Redel
In the corner
of my small room is a bookcase.
On it,
I have placed many different items.
Most of them are tools.
One shelf has a few cans of gas.
At the bottom are the remains of some explosions.
Perhaps many explosions.
Another has a picture of when I lived
in a room
with a flimsy gold headboard
that had white orbs with pink flowers at the crest.
And I had a large black box
with a Sharp TV from the 90s.
The headboard and box
had been donated to me.
Down the hall
was a fighter soon to become a bank robber
who once entered my room
and remembered a scenario he had planned
in which he could kill me
to get out of this life
that he no longer wanted to live.
I also have a forest
and a trail through the forest
that leads to my dream.
And flowers.
I've placed so many flowers
in that bookcase
that it seems as if I now have two gardens
in my home.
But also I have many dead moods
and many chases that ended with fire spilling from my mouth
and burns on my hands and feet
and too many promises that I made to myself
I believed I would definitely keep
but never could.
Now I go back
and question what it all means.
I live in those books
once again.
Sometimes I read the stories
that have been written on my skin
and in my joints
and on the scars of my face.
But mostly I just see me.
I see where I was
when I picked them up.
I close my eyes.
The fighter who believed he could find freedom
in my death was wrong.
He could have found what he wanted at that time.
But he had so many years ahead of him.
He got what he wanted
when he robbed that bank.
When I knew that he was thinking
that he could have gotten what he wanted
by killing me,
I was disgusted.
Today, seven years later,
I've listened to worse
from the mouths of better people
than when I heard the thought
flash through his mind.
February 25, 2018
It Will Visit
It Will Visit
by Gabe Redel
I know of this creature
that is crawling my way.
It has the remains of those it had last visited
stuck to its arms and legs.
Its nose is low to the ground
following my scent like a stray dog.
Slowly, it moves, but it is sure to come.
It will get here. It will arrive.
I heard him talking
long before I could even see him.
I heard him telling me all about the homes
that he had previously visited.
The millions and millions of homes
he has known.
I didn’t ask him
what the condition of those people were like
after he had done his work.
I figured I would wait until I saw him
face to face to ask.
And when he gets here,
I’ll tell him my story.
It’s about the many times
I’ve seen monsters like him.
The many times they have come
looking for me.
The many times that my home
was the last stop they would ever make.
by Gabe Redel
I know of this creature
that is crawling my way.
It has the remains of those it had last visited
stuck to its arms and legs.
Its nose is low to the ground
following my scent like a stray dog.
Slowly, it moves, but it is sure to come.
It will get here. It will arrive.
I heard him talking
long before I could even see him.
I heard him telling me all about the homes
that he had previously visited.
The millions and millions of homes
he has known.
I didn’t ask him
what the condition of those people were like
after he had done his work.
I figured I would wait until I saw him
face to face to ask.
And when he gets here,
I’ll tell him my story.
It’s about the many times
I’ve seen monsters like him.
The many times they have come
looking for me.
The many times that my home
was the last stop they would ever make.
January 21, 2018
Endless Dark
Endless Dark
by Gabe Redel
The Earth is much like space.
It can be searched
for an entire lifetime
and the person searching it
may never find what he wants.
Many tools are used for searching.
Some tools put you a long distance away
from where you stand
so you can see what is there, in the distance,
as if you were standing closer to it.
Often what we see is not enough.
I see eyes drifting
far off in disappointment
and heads shaking from side to side
in frustration.
Once we decide that we cannot get what we want
from searching for things far away
we typically pick up a new tool or a new method
that lets us dissect and pull apart
and examine every small detail
of what we would like to have
but have not been able to get.
We believe that if we use
this new approach
that we are sure to come up
with what we have always wanted,
but, again, nothing.
Not even looking at what we want
as if it were a diagram or a set of plans
or a science that needs to be understood and conquered
is good enough.
So many approaches.
So much time spent digging
like ants to build our farms
and yet so little success.
Everything has its own power.
Everyone has a different idea
of what is the best way to live life.
I need to ask, why are so many options available?
Why is there so much variety?
Should life be this complex
for a type of people
who can only learn about
what we see and hear and feel
with our own senses on our own bodies?
We have to be right on top of it
if we want to understand it.
We have to experience it first hand
or we will get nothing from it.
So we search.
We spend our lives searching.
We fail and we learn and we start again.
We grow
and we see
that even the opposite sex
is like space.
We see that happiness
is just like the great unknowns of Earth.
We understand one second at a time.
We understand only one thing at a time.
We understand it in our time, in our second, in our spot
with one single thought that happens by itself in its single place
with no partner at its side
to give it an extra boost,
to give it an extra bit of clarity.
And one thing, the only thing,
that we know for certain
is that tomorrow we will learn once again
how endless are the lives that we live.
Endless like the earth.
Dark, mysterious, like space
and forever keeping us at a distance.
by Gabe Redel
The Earth is much like space.
It can be searched
for an entire lifetime
and the person searching it
may never find what he wants.
Many tools are used for searching.
Some tools put you a long distance away
from where you stand
so you can see what is there, in the distance,
as if you were standing closer to it.
Often what we see is not enough.
I see eyes drifting
far off in disappointment
and heads shaking from side to side
in frustration.
Once we decide that we cannot get what we want
from searching for things far away
we typically pick up a new tool or a new method
that lets us dissect and pull apart
and examine every small detail
of what we would like to have
but have not been able to get.
We believe that if we use
this new approach
that we are sure to come up
with what we have always wanted,
but, again, nothing.
Not even looking at what we want
as if it were a diagram or a set of plans
or a science that needs to be understood and conquered
is good enough.
So many approaches.
So much time spent digging
like ants to build our farms
and yet so little success.
Everything has its own power.
Everyone has a different idea
of what is the best way to live life.
I need to ask, why are so many options available?
Why is there so much variety?
Should life be this complex
for a type of people
who can only learn about
what we see and hear and feel
with our own senses on our own bodies?
We have to be right on top of it
if we want to understand it.
We have to experience it first hand
or we will get nothing from it.
So we search.
We spend our lives searching.
We fail and we learn and we start again.
We grow
and we see
that even the opposite sex
is like space.
We see that happiness
is just like the great unknowns of Earth.
We understand one second at a time.
We understand only one thing at a time.
We understand it in our time, in our second, in our spot
with one single thought that happens by itself in its single place
with no partner at its side
to give it an extra boost,
to give it an extra bit of clarity.
And one thing, the only thing,
that we know for certain
is that tomorrow we will learn once again
how endless are the lives that we live.
Endless like the earth.
Dark, mysterious, like space
and forever keeping us at a distance.
All the Shelves
All the Shelves
by Gabe Redel
Is it that people are mud hills?
Is it that the rain falls over the hill
and washes pieces of ourselves into the great river,
and the river carries them away,
far, far away until we can no longer see
what it is that we had lost?
Are we the trees collecting plastic bags
and old tire swings
that blow in the wind
with no child, no teenager, no youth
for us to remember?
Only cracked and flaking walls
with a white stripe around the circle.
The car that rusts in the weeds
that once had a future ahead of it.
The old shingles on the farmhouse
that spin out of place
by the passing wind
and land in the backyard
and continue to tumble toward
the small pond
that holds lilies and frogs in its hand.
Dreams that collect as the day caps them in
and twists the lid down
and sets them on the shelf,
all the shelves.
The lines of dreams
that can be seen through the glass
like peaches
and green beans and pickles.
by Gabe Redel
Is it that people are mud hills?
Is it that the rain falls over the hill
and washes pieces of ourselves into the great river,
and the river carries them away,
far, far away until we can no longer see
what it is that we had lost?
Are we the trees collecting plastic bags
and old tire swings
that blow in the wind
with no child, no teenager, no youth
for us to remember?
Only cracked and flaking walls
with a white stripe around the circle.
The car that rusts in the weeds
that once had a future ahead of it.
The old shingles on the farmhouse
that spin out of place
by the passing wind
and land in the backyard
and continue to tumble toward
the small pond
that holds lilies and frogs in its hand.
Dreams that collect as the day caps them in
and twists the lid down
and sets them on the shelf,
all the shelves.
The lines of dreams
that can be seen through the glass
like peaches
and green beans and pickles.
December 10, 2017
Heavy Blanket
Heavy Blanket
by Gabe Redel
As I ran hard against
who I once had been,
I worked with equal effort
to weave a heavy blanket
over my spirit.
The blanket held everything down
that I no longer believed in.
It was the same as when I had noticed
how beautiful the leaves were on the trees,
but then they fell
in thick layers
over my yard.
They smothered the grass
and I knew it would die without help.
I let my mouth weave
each thread of that heavy blanket
that held my spirit under
as I worked hard
sweating on the roads.
I knew nothing but the blindness
that was with me
as I suffocated in the heat.
I began to die.
I wanted to be there.
I couldn’t live
with who I had been.
But the other day
I saw that when the leaves were raked
from their piles,
underneath was fresh grass
growing long and green and lush.
The leaves had not yet smothered life.
The blanket had been removed at just the right time
until what was new and full of readiness
was strong enough to stand on its own.
by Gabe Redel
As I ran hard against
who I once had been,
I worked with equal effort
to weave a heavy blanket
over my spirit.
The blanket held everything down
that I no longer believed in.
It was the same as when I had noticed
how beautiful the leaves were on the trees,
but then they fell
in thick layers
over my yard.
They smothered the grass
and I knew it would die without help.
I let my mouth weave
each thread of that heavy blanket
that held my spirit under
as I worked hard
sweating on the roads.
I knew nothing but the blindness
that was with me
as I suffocated in the heat.
I began to die.
I wanted to be there.
I couldn’t live
with who I had been.
But the other day
I saw that when the leaves were raked
from their piles,
underneath was fresh grass
growing long and green and lush.
The leaves had not yet smothered life.
The blanket had been removed at just the right time
until what was new and full of readiness
was strong enough to stand on its own.
December 3, 2017
My Attempt to Talk About Love
My Attempt to Talk About Love
by Gabe Redel
There is pride in love.
Deepness is love.
We are in it,
down underneath a thick barrier of darkness
that covers us, blinds us
and, yet, there is a strong light that surrounds us.
It surrounds us so tightly that we can’t even see ourselves.
We see nothing but the light,
nothing but love.
In love, there is nothing else.
Cities are moved.
Skies and earth are secondary.
The life we once had known
may as well have never existed.
Love is so deep and dark
it destroys sanity.
When it threatens to leave us
we think about nothing but the darkness
that will be left over our heads
trapping us, perhaps, forever.
Two weeks of love
could leave us with
three months of sobbing.
Nothing is like love.
Thoughts about it have no logic.
Only events and times and places
are able to describe the life that it lives.
When I think about it
my mind has no grounds.
My thoughts are about women first
and then they zig-zag to actions that I took
to prove that I too can love hard and be left empty-handed.
Soon my thoughts find hope
in that I have lived a loving life
and love will once again find me,
but my thoughts never land on one spot.
I can never isolate what I believe is the result of love.
I can never decide if I had loved or had I done it for me?
Love throws me around.
It can abuse me.
It has pushed me down roads of life
that have broken my bones
and sent me to live without a home.
It had me make decisions that I think about every day since,
that I battle with,
that I loath,
that I believe was the best choice I could have made.
by Gabe Redel
There is pride in love.
Deepness is love.
We are in it,
down underneath a thick barrier of darkness
that covers us, blinds us
and, yet, there is a strong light that surrounds us.
It surrounds us so tightly that we can’t even see ourselves.
We see nothing but the light,
nothing but love.
In love, there is nothing else.
Cities are moved.
Skies and earth are secondary.
The life we once had known
may as well have never existed.
Love is so deep and dark
it destroys sanity.
When it threatens to leave us
we think about nothing but the darkness
that will be left over our heads
trapping us, perhaps, forever.
Two weeks of love
could leave us with
three months of sobbing.
Nothing is like love.
Thoughts about it have no logic.
Only events and times and places
are able to describe the life that it lives.
When I think about it
my mind has no grounds.
My thoughts are about women first
and then they zig-zag to actions that I took
to prove that I too can love hard and be left empty-handed.
Soon my thoughts find hope
in that I have lived a loving life
and love will once again find me,
but my thoughts never land on one spot.
I can never isolate what I believe is the result of love.
I can never decide if I had loved or had I done it for me?
Love throws me around.
It can abuse me.
It has pushed me down roads of life
that have broken my bones
and sent me to live without a home.
It had me make decisions that I think about every day since,
that I battle with,
that I loath,
that I believe was the best choice I could have made.
November 26, 2017
Needed Each Other
Needed Each Other
by Gabe Redel
She had nothing
that I place value in.
I do not get the best parts of life with her.
We do not like the same things.
She barely speaks English
and eats foods
that I would be afraid to eat.
She sat in front of me
speaking with a strong accent.
We came to an impasse
when she did not understand my words again.
I believed the date was over.
I stood up to find the waiter
so I could pay for the drinks
and fried cheesecake.
He was not there.
I sat back down next to her.
We talked a little more.
I decided to put her hand in mine.
She was not looking
for a man like me.
I held her hand gently.
It felt good.
It felt like I should be holding it.
The longer I kept her fingers under my palm
the more emotional we became.
Tingles flowed against my arms and shoulders.
Tears pooled below her eyes.
We did not have much in common,
but the one thing we both needed most
we were able to give.
She gave herself to me
and I gave myself to her.
by Gabe Redel
She had nothing
that I place value in.
I do not get the best parts of life with her.
We do not like the same things.
She barely speaks English
and eats foods
that I would be afraid to eat.
She sat in front of me
speaking with a strong accent.
We came to an impasse
when she did not understand my words again.
I believed the date was over.
I stood up to find the waiter
so I could pay for the drinks
and fried cheesecake.
He was not there.
I sat back down next to her.
We talked a little more.
I decided to put her hand in mine.
She was not looking
for a man like me.
I held her hand gently.
It felt good.
It felt like I should be holding it.
The longer I kept her fingers under my palm
the more emotional we became.
Tingles flowed against my arms and shoulders.
Tears pooled below her eyes.
We did not have much in common,
but the one thing we both needed most
we were able to give.
She gave herself to me
and I gave myself to her.
November 19, 2017
Mistakes
Mistakes
by Gabe Redel
I can’t seem to shake
this humiliation from my life.
It follows me like it were the shirt
over my shoulders.
I thought that I would get better
at stripping myself of embarrassment
as I grew into my prime,
but it has turned out that
I have only allowed myself
to make the same mistakes
on a more noticeable stage.
What I have gotten better at is hiding the pain
under a confident face.
You say that I am fake.
What else should I do?
I could run and cry
or I could own up
to how I feel
and take a strong step toward my destiny.
by Gabe Redel
I can’t seem to shake
this humiliation from my life.
It follows me like it were the shirt
over my shoulders.
I thought that I would get better
at stripping myself of embarrassment
as I grew into my prime,
but it has turned out that
I have only allowed myself
to make the same mistakes
on a more noticeable stage.
What I have gotten better at is hiding the pain
under a confident face.
You say that I am fake.
What else should I do?
I could run and cry
or I could own up
to how I feel
and take a strong step toward my destiny.
