mcmxcvi

Details emerge forever

                    —Lyn Hejinian

Keeping it fresh.  I got a gmail

account.  I’m trying to use it.

It’s nice out.  I think I’ll go out

and read.

Halloween:  It’s a beautiful day

to be in love with a Grammy-

nominated rock star.  Otto

wants to play dress-up

tonight.

Eight years ago I used as

inspiration the titles of a

set of Gamma Go post-

cards.  And then I went

to get coffee.

On Saturday night (isn’t

it always on Saturday

night?)...on Saturday

night after Grubsteak

a monumental reading

by Landis Everson

who is so very

bravo.

Maybe it isn’t

me who’s in

love with a

Grammy-

nominated

pop star (rock star?).

Then some wonderful

stories by someone

who died at age 31.

Today is Dragon Friday

(so I suppose that it’s

not always Saturday

night).  Daylight

Savings Time

ended over the

weekend and

the afternoon

is likely to

go on forever.

mcmxcv

the air, heavy with failure

                      —Alice Notley

A patsy repeats the past.

That’s all there is to it.

Run, Bunny-Money, shouts Piggy-Jiggy

Run, Sheepy-Sleepy, weeps Goaty-Throaty

                                              —Lyn Hejinian

mcmxciv

All the Goofballs Meander Eastwood

“This movie is not making any sense.”

“Then take off your glasses.”

It’s not in 3-D.

mcmxciii

This Tactic Is Useless

“She doesn’t seem to have any flies”

(I’m misreading Medusa).  “But it’s

your time, now.” 

What about my time?

I hold up eight fingers and two

thumbs (opposable!) in defense.

“I have no interest in your thoughts

on any subject” (Alice Notley,

except she finishes with

“; though one sometimes

listens to pass the time.”)

Why do we keep these?

Mere tokens of meditation.

Like aspirin in the morning

(4 Advil at a time) and

how they accumulate.

“My bookshelf is my

morning,” Medusa’s

mouth moves as if to

say.  “My morning.”

All the goofballs in

San Francisco (all

the fogballs) rise

and meander

eastward.

mcmxcii

What is the point

of this tactic? is

not exactly what

I meant to say.

mcmxci

A Milkshake Made of Gold

Okay, I’m ready now.  I just

need to know where I’m going.

I appreciate your concerns

regarding your visit.  Please

be assured that I had much

more to show you.  That’s

when I went ahead and

posted all of the ones

that I was embarrassed

about.  It actually felt

pretty good.  Until it

hit me.  There are so many

parties that I don’t get in-

vited to.  My attempts to

merge my nightmare

with your nightmare

kept getting interrupted.

I felt reasonably sure

that time was of the

essence.  That a

heartattack was

imminent.  Unless

I were somehow

able to arrive.  To,

you know, save the

day.  And most

especially

the night.

mcmxc

Keeping It Fresh

But it’s what I do.  To check in.

To say hi.  When I feel disconnected

or distant or when I’m dropping off

luggage or waiting for a taxi.  Other

games we play include looking into

a mirror for long periods of time,

walking all the way back home,

and taking very long showers.

mcmlxxxix

This Isn’t Idiotically Frustrating

There’s just too much negativity

(which reminds me: mental note:

remember not to ask how he’s

doing; it drives him back off

the wagon [or maybe it’s

back on the wagon, I

always get confused]).

Anyway, I often get

confused.  That’s my

thing.  Especially lately.

That and losing pairs of

eyeglasses (mental note:

henceforth, pay less for

eyeglasses!).  I used to

find the ‘absent-minded

professor’ thing charming.

I try to remain in character,

though, no matter where

the adventure takes me.

Like now.  Or.  Sure.

But.  I’m not a record.

I mean I like the idea

of growth or evolution

(becoming better, more

adaptable, more resilient).

I went to the doctor with

chest pains (my pain,

not the doctor’s).  EKG(!?)

is fine; he says it’s probably

stress or gas or a pulled muscle.

Fine.  I pour myself a glass of

filtered water and two glasses

of wine.  I continue my research

on Mozart for my master’s thesis.

Halloween is just around the corner.

mcmlxxxviii

1988: the year I experienced

high school dating.  Or

having a girlfriend.  A

somewhat foreign but

fairly fortuitous experi-

ment that took me into

1989 and toward senior

prom.  But, by then, the

experience was pretty

much over, which led

to going to prom with

a ‘friend’.  Which was

not a date.  Once at the

party, we went our sep-

arate ways, and were

both totally fine with

that.  But omigod it’s

okay if I don’t write.

Isn’t it okay if I can’t

write about Doctor

Atomic?  About

Peter Sellars’

libretto after

2 glasses of

pinot grigio

with Claudia?

I’m not sure

how long I’ve

been trying to

make this record.

I don’t even think

I’m being paid for it.

What can I do?  It’s

a life.  It’s happening.

mcmlxxxvii

It’s kind of like a dream.  I

certainly don’t understand

it.  (The neighbor's dog

who hardly ever makes

a noise is stirring up

quite a storm of ruffs

and barks, getting all

the other neighbor dogs

roused, and even

Coco seems un-

easy.)

Transition.  Anything.

I find it easy to put on

a mask when writing.

To take on someone

else’s voice.  On

paper.  The only

way I can comfort-

ably role-play.  Be-

sides a stage.  That’s

not true, of course.

The notion of just

sitting, of being

aware, of meditating.

If it weren’t for my

spine, zazen would

be at the top of my

list.  My list.  Is in

transition.  I’ve been

in such a state lately

that I keep a file of

lists that I need to

scrutinize, to sit on.

To merge into one.

mcmlxxxvi

There’s a pounding pain

right here.  Inside of my

chest.  It’s either a lung,

my heart, or my stomach.

It’s sweet learning how

to live slow.  Adorable.

Oddly enough, that’s

the mood I’m in.  The

feeling of walking on

a campus.  I haven’t

felt it in a good while.

Maybe I haven’t felt

good in a while. 

We all go dancing

at Mezzanine.  I

overdo it trying

to make every-

thing the best.

I’m almost too

determined.  I

am hoping for

this.  I’m ready

for time to have

done its trick and

for everything to

be okay.  I’m not

sure.  I think about

how to get paid for

this.  And what that

means.  Sitting here

in this nice, new

place.  Wondering

how long it might

last.    Everything

is really the best.

I’m really looking

forward to it.  I

really have no

idea how long

this might last.

mcmlxxxv

Fact or fiction:  I just saw my

favorite underwear.  In a porn

flick.  I spent all day in bed

buried in clean laundry.  As

soon as lunch arrived, I got

a call and had to run an errand.

Hence, no lunch.  I played 95

rounds of Bubble Galaxy with

Buddies™.  All without any

malaise or edginess. 

In reality, it seems like

everyone’s out having a

good time but me.  At my

workdesk I figure out how

to bring back the balance.

Because.  Because tomorrow

is October.  Because tomorrow

is Otto’s birthday party.  Today,

doing nothing but sending emails

of myself sticking my tongue out to

new friends and old friends I haven’t

seen or even corresponded with in

forever.  Sitting ten hours in the box

before getting up and walking over

to purchase a digital camera.  Oddly

enough, that’s the mood I’m in.

Saturday night.  It’s mellow.

And my chest hurts.

mcmlxxxiv

I read 1984 in 1983.

Curran called when I got home

to say he’s now an uncle.  Wild.

Otto dropped off his art supplies

so he didn’t have to drag them

around everywhere.  Later, I’ll

have a drink with Alessia for

her birthday.  At Le Coloniel.

Last night was Fred’s bon

voyage dinner.  We went to

Chow.  I met a few of his

friends, all very nice.  I

was BEAT.    At the

birthday bash, lots

of names come and

go.  Jenn was a riot.

Afterwards, we ate

pizza and watched

AbFab.  Anyway,

now my back hurts

but I will try to go

to the gym.  I’m

not sure why.

mcmlxxxiii

I feel sorry for anyone that has to die.

                                          —John Ashbery

I’m in the leather daddy section, drinking a

strawberry banana smoothie, trying not to be

too rational.  Fun.  I could come here every

Saturday.  But I feel distant.  Maybe I should

explore a lot more.  What’s up?  It’s a not-so-

hot weekend.  Standing in front of the Curran

Theater in the rain.  Then sleep (with parts of

8½ strewn throughout).  Today is a such a

blue day.  I smack my head in the middle of

it.  The board meeting on Saturday; a getting

up on the wrong side of bed thing.  What else?

Nothing.  A few folks came over, got angry

because we were in the middle of a fight.

But Sunday came.  A happy morning

walking to downtown and back (which

is mostly like levitating, considering

our location).  Then I napped.  All

without any sense of malaise or edginess.

mcmlxxxii

How to Deflect

Do not build the ‘extra-dollar’ vanity

from Ikea.  It seems none of us has

begun to digest the meal of all our

lives (John Ashbery).  Yes, I am tired

of patriarchy (tired of the patriarchy).

Barf.  That’s puke.  Today, touchy.

Very.  These days it’s probably

healthy to be able to joke about it.

We ARE sort of pretty when we

cross over that line of no return.

Nothing’s floating around in my

head but I keep reading sentences

that make me misty.  That last

meeting was very vampire in

the end.  There are way too

many meetings.  Did the

main character become

a poem?  Not to think

about it further.  Does

that make sense?  At a

burger joint having a

strawberry shake I feel

really cool.  Am I about

to die?  It’s a totally

different kind of place.

In a strange part of town.

I feel distant.  Or something

severe.  Perhaps I should

explore a lot more.

mcmlxxxi

‘of’ is such a top.

‘the’ is a total bottom.

but what if ‘we’ was

reversible, or, how

do they call it,

flexible, no,

transparent?

barf.  that

crosses the

line, doesn’t

it?  ‘to’ is

so healthy.

when it fights,

it’s good, but

it still ain’t

pretty.  ‘is’

is, though.

at first I

thought

‘nothing’

was float-

ing around

in my head.

but then,

no joke,

‘that’

totally

ended it.

mcmlxxx

I still don’t know what people do

in the Bubble Galaxy.  I guess it’s

just something to do every minute

through next week.  That’s my

problem.  Just trying to get it out.

It hardly ever works.  It probably

won’t work this time.  Whatever

happens that’s big around here

certainly has me touchy.  First

it pissed me off.  Fighting over

nothing.  Another fight about

nothing.  Okay, we don’t fight.

What’s healthy is writing fast.

That must be what has me

all misting up.