cracked window

it is a worry of mine that I’ll drop out of sight, forgotten in only a few days or weeks, and won’t be able to come back and put a single idea together. this would be the case if I weren’t elsewhere writing and sewing the fabric, but I’ve been busy, gladly.

you should see the stacks of books here in the house, the mess I’ve made of the place. the unread books. it’s fixed now so all I have to do is reach one arm out of bed and a fingernail is scraping a paperback. in bed when I have a cold I can prop myself up with a story like this and blow my nose day in and out, hoping to God this year my lungs won’t cave in, and that I’ll make it well past 30.

I could say nothing exciting has been happening, but it’d be a lie. the radio keeps talking about all this anthrax. the country continues dropping bombs, and I’m eating vegetarian Mexican food with my wife on a Saturday, on a Sunday, and next Monday comes to pass, ill at ease the approach of my grandmother’s next operation, one simple hip replacement but risky because of her advanced age. the days are changing me slowly, for better or worse.

most of all our clocks are set back. let me try to describe now what it feels like since I’ve opened the window next to me: the smell of logs for the fireplace. in this sense, snow and all quiet out, reminiscent of how I used to look out the window as a kid at night looking for Santa Claus. the cool air comes in for a few minutes completely welcome. I keep coughing because my lungs are bad and I’ve come down with a common cold. everything is scary, except I just don’t feel like being scared any more. I think because I’m used to it. this is probably also why ghosts stopped messing with me; I just became so damn used to it. in the midst of everything, and being speechless, I can say things are good these days, and I’ve begun to focus more of my energy to living as a writer. of course I work full time doing something else, and it’s high maintenance, but I hope I’ll get used to that too. I’m hoping someone will come along and teach me something new. these people aren’t far away I don’t think.

I’ve been reading Garrison Keillor these days, which I really enjoy. perhaps I’ll go into writing comedy. in the meantime, I’ve put out an electronic book called The Whole Gamma. please check it out.

I’m thinking more about the idea of writing letters more. the other day I even wrote one to my wife. such as: Dear Reader, welcome to the end of my entry. it’s been a good ride, and now I’m moving onto something else. I’ll attempt the age old habit of sleep.

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aspirations

playing checkers this fine sunday
proud winnings
went to the mall rumoured for attacks
viewed Picaso
wife said he was a pervert
but I couldn’t help
admiring the hundred dollar book

we caught a four car back home
and all I could think of
was drawing contorted torsos
until finally they reached a perfection

hence the sore and tired checkers

Sunday, day of rest

many planes overhead. I dreamt there was an explosion and the debris was fast flying in my direction, destroying cars, splitting open trees, barely missing me. had dreams like this before – explosions fast approaching. so there will be terror. the war has crystallized.

momentary

these guys
posing in their
music videos

home all weekend
listening to Bjork
reading library books

wrestled on living room floor
with the children
felt so alive being attacked like that
having fun

fill up the passing time

I plan to get back and reread these books
I swore I would
go back for more

plan to work hard
explain to them nothing much else
let them be assholes if they insist on it

write more and more on a Sunday

anything

found the website for Writer’s Almanac. this has me in a good mood because every morning at 6:30 AM I would wake up listening to it and it would start me off on a good foot.

“Today is the Feast Day of St. Francis of Assisi. He was born in Assisi, in central Italy, in 1182. He started out as a wealthy man-about-town, until he fell into a serious illness in his 19th year. He was praying in the dilapidated Church of St. Damiano one day in 1206, and he heard the voice of Christ saying, “Go, Francis, and repair my house which, as you see, is well-nigh in ruins.” He went and took some of his father’s money for the project. He went on to found the Franciscan Order, which was dedicated to poverty, penance, and the relief of the sick.”

drinking tea
that fogs up
my glasses
like the short poems
take anything
they will hit you
with anything
may the tea
put me to sleep
for just a couple
hours more
and calm my
swollen eye

you will experience much
in a long life if you’re lucky
I live for the writing
and not much else
it is where I find real people
and it demands little of me

God gave us words

here is one of Matthew’s entries:

“yesterday i received lecture tapes from Dhanurdhara Maharaja to transcribe, on Srimad Bhagavatam verses. questions from sages, on Krsna’s appearance and other things. im listening like im coming out of amnesia:some things click or just make sense. i at least know it made more sense than anything when i was sitting on the park benches, next to the obnoxious construction workers on lunch break jeering at women, blowing smoke in my face.

“a full minute of staring off. the window is not reality, nor what i see outside it, but i sit in a chair and thats ok real, and if i go downstairs to the sidewalk and spit, thats ok real. communication breakdowns. ill make something real passionate with words but then not say it. real tragedies. only effective as the amount of time and effort you put into it.
chipped, ruined teeth. ”

I love to read the words
it helps to go to someone else’s set
and feel as if you might have written them yourself
but in a way glad that you didn’t
sometimes it is tiring
and you’d rather just read them

Art Bell says something like:
“It is something words cannot describe, but in radio we deal with words. So we’ll have to try.”

it is really one day at a time. I wish I had more energy to explain it. my small life. in the night I woke up with asthma and suffered a bit before I put up the energy to make a cup of tea for some relief. this always helps but I think for at least a bit I can make it through, catch my breath, and not have to get up and go downstairs. it is always too hot and I have to wait a long while for it to cool down. the internet pulls me back in and I’m roaming around not wanting too much to focus on because also my eyes are infected and in pain. yes, today I went to the emergency room for treatment. got some antibiotics. got news on the phone that one of my good friends at work was fired and it has me upset and thinking again that each week I make it through that place is a miracle. I tried calling another friend to talk all kinds of things, but managed only to wake up his girlfriend and feel like an absolute ass for it.

wanting to reach out
I sit down quietly
read
write
that is all
I hope all my friends
are doing okay
I’ve been hoping for this
even before the trade center

midnight poem

disease punches
my eye
out

19 after the hour

understand this
reflect that
common sense yourself
the answer like
money through the wire
and get your own
goddamn answer

it is your own individual project
be decent
be compassionate
read deeply
love someone deeply
quest God deeply
write deeply
think deeply
joke deeply
prepare deeply
sleep deeply