it is nice coming here to the coffee shop mornings and finding that other people write not as students but as writers with journals.
so Friday is here!
still, I’ve been in a good mood all week. I’ve pretty much been this way ever since I left my old job and started the new one. one side of me is saying I have to come down to reality. the other keeps thinking back to that hell I just went through, and through experiencing it, what strength it gives me now. the trials before me now are lightweight.
this lady walks by
drops her notebook
me and one other guy
start to reach down
to grab it for her
but she gets it
a dog bounces past
a little boy in the parking lot
screams out the window Hello!
Myshkin is talking to the generals wife
and three daughters about
calligraphy and Switzerland
he went there to be treated
for his Epilepsy
and now mostly recovered
has returned to Petersburg
this book will lead
further into
how everyone
in one form or another
will attempt to wipe this guy out
and by his good nature
this is all combated
almost unconsciously
but of course it doesn’t
happen so simply
and everything
takes its toll
and so now I am
returning from “Switzerland”
to Dostoevsky’s
storytelling
layered
elaborate
hyper-detailed
hyper sensitive
dramatic
philosophical
. . .
these notes are somewhat scattered. pressed for time kind of notes. still fun. I love to write even when my mind is blank. it’s something I want to get better and better at. there’s that sense of mastery, but what really can you ever master if its depths are limitless. at least I can say I’m not a beginner to this. I seriously started writing when I was a teenager, just a bit before I moved into the temple and they said I should put a hold on it. they stifled it. when I was in India I began to plan out a magazine “notes and open thought” which turned into “journal of thought.” years later, JOT died in Baltimore. I had moved in with devotees and one, once again, discouraged the act of writing (even those his own spiritual master was a prolific writer). this did not stop me, mind you, but threw a wrench into machinery, nevertheless.
I am in a place of notes. that is, I write notes, and that’s it. I’m in no other mode as far as novel writing, zine creating, whatever. it’s just the sort of pace I’m going in. there is a poetry book cooking in the background, but very slowly. I’m monitoring it. I want to keep an eye on the material over time and see if it’s worth putting into print at some point.
more notes later…
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