was writing in the old notebook. should say new, ’cause it’s rather new, but it remains the ‘ol notebook, because it doesn’t start just with dates or the first page beneath the cover. good time is spent in bed reading and writing this way, after a long day. the longest days demand a lot from me. let no one say I don’t put a lot into what I do, even if it’s something as mundane as ironing out kinks in a printshop. it is more than that because they make it so. what a neurotic bunch demanding bunches of reassurances and for me to hold their hand for them, remind them every day they’ve left their coffee in the microwave so they can come make room for the food I put in for the lunch ritual. I learn that I can always write more. I learn that I, we, are always selling ourselves short, our true potential is poetic, something amazing, something a face lift and extreme makeover will never supply you.
let me tell you about a new cat in town, Panther. besides a few kinks, this thing makes my machine hum like a brand new engine exciting me like a little kid at xmas. but it is up to me what I do with it, with another tool. toolboxes and tools overflowing by the year 2003, not dreamed in 1983 while I was skating curbs at shopping centers nocturnal.
somene wrote “5 more reasons for sleep” or something like that. only one I can remember, which was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles part ii. something like that. I am more into cats like lesbians are into cats – I have two. cats.
cannot hear through cell phone static what you’re trying to say but it sounds important. yes, this age is digital, but water still runs, keep your extension cords dry. staying alive serves me well if memory serves well and the rest of me serves well and I don’t dry up like a well. can’t tell. she writes, “fruit is the meat and trees are the medicine, and we are the free promised land children.” and I believe it. she is not pulling any fakeness.
there is smith mountain lake. I hear it is beautiful, but haven’t been. when, oh when? time on earth for a lot of things, you better go for the better things instead of discussing Jerry Springer topics like a broken record till the record player itself breaks, dismantles, lights itself on fire, burns more, burns for five minutes, burns till it reaches the fuel tank and explodes.
reincarnation is sensible enough but stings nonetheless. nothing easy about being born, but that memory is gone, for now, till next time, till the time comes. then we shall see all we have forgotten. I would like NOW with a child’s time on my hands. used to complain about school, at least I had whole summers off. of course I didn’t know what to do with myself, so there were prisons all about – the biggest one lacking self esteem and the inability to express myself, understand things on a deeper level, developing vital awareness of the universe to be alive. this came through a tough leather of years. this came through the trials. this came with miles. this vehicle, mind, time and space, opportunity, freedom if you seek it if you are intelligent not just pledge blind allegiance to it.
her poem went, “hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I have my own Jesus?” and won first prize tonight’s slam. that is that.