my mind
I try to flow off
different associations
it’s a sunday mind
my wife and I . . .
which rhymes
we enjoy a temporarily
expanded cable line up
and today once I
crawled out of sleep
listening to the radio
I turned it on
I watched most of
‘beautiful girls’
which was pretty damn good
Uma Thurman’s role was awesome
my favorite scene was when this guy
convinced her to have some alone time
in a cabin and further tried to connive sex
with her by associating it with warmth and
other comfortable things –
she said how she was going back to her home town
and associated that with hope, a warm drink, good music,
and so on
in a friendly way she wound up leaving and
keeping dignity and good faith in herself

it is getting colder
jobs repeat themselves
at least around here
predict the same tired
in those who
are supposed to be adults
alter what is natural
nothing . . .
they have such happy
thoughtless lives
no ramifications

with extra cable
got to see
thank the Lord!
movies that scared
the crap out of me
as a kid
moral of the story:

I’ll change the subject
subjected to
low personality
bad personality
mock chicken
mock beef
you can eat it
and sleep at night
at least a few hours
without lungs acting up

not secure with my looks
will not become an actor
maybe a producer
maybe a writer
for now, more notes
years and years of goddamn notes
what the hell actually
gets produced?
maybe I don’t care enough
about people any more
to bother even sharing it with them
around here you’re made to think
everything you do
should be able to earn you that
extra buck and push you forward
because after all everything is suffering
everything is under the weight of a decline
who the hell has time for what comes out of the pen any more?
I cross the bridge anyway, sometimes writing while walking
I’ve done it! I’ve taken pictures of the park on the other side
the rats that my wife calls squirrels
out of denial
and I write on and on every day
every damn day whether it be a paragraph or six pages
reading also Dostoevsky, Garrison Keillor, various books on writing,
on overpopulation, the environment, et cetera.

night time writing’s obstacle is the incoming tiredness.

what happens in this life is a novel but you have to know how to write it, which I think sometimes I don’t. I don’t know how to write it like a best seller, however that’s defined. I only know how to write it like I would know how to write it, which is how? from sentence to sentence, a rookie, I admit it. journals, public journals, the audience strangers, and a few friends. wake up and do your push ups. read your good book. head out the door and keep your head up. buy a new umbrella. keep losing them.

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