Thursday, November 29, 2018


Oct. 30

If I say it,

it is true.

If I say it,

it is true.

My writing

lacks logic.

Like me, you

say, going 

from tid-

bit to tid-

bit as if


is in a pro-

per place –

has an app-

ropriate loc-

ale, one thing

leading, con-

sequently, to

the other. Like

narrative anyone

can follow, and 

occasionally nod in
vigorous agreement,

as if to relay “This

makes sense, I con-

cur!” Like chron-

ology, like an

engaging bed-

time story told

with the primary

purpose of putting

one to sleep. Sound-

ly, with intermittent

dreams (anti-logic,

experimental poet-

ics, nonsequiturs, 

etc.).  I arose at

seven am. I lunched

at eleven.  I interview 

at two. I sleep around

one in the morning. I

am uncloudy and I

rate the logic of

my world.  Breathe

in.  Breathe out.

This day is very

alive.  In fact,

it rocks! Today

rocks!  And I rule!

Oh, happy day

of the living.

Sunday, November 18, 2018


Art Not Play?

In times of crisis, we must all decide again and again

       whom we love.
                                                       —Frank O’Hara
the city
I walk it.
Up and
down its
many hills.
The Far
East is
as far
away as
El Segundo.
Which is
very far
away or
very close.
It depends
on your