Week ending October 31
I didn't understand how I just couldn't get back for 3 hours, and I still hadn't eaten. And I couldn't find my shoes.
Don't really want to write everything that happened last night.
Big Screaming Bear Picture.
And is hope a sort of violence too?
This "character" type kept yelling "Don't Play Merle Haggard!"
"Myra" just happened to have a GPS and said get in I'll drive you there.
When you're really suffering you don't ask why, you just survive it.
And I've felt an undercurrent of confusion ever since.
My mother's dream of unused rooms, 13 children with down's syndrome, and lots of cans of tomatoes. "I have never had a dream with Uncle Joyce in it."
"Time is the economy of being."
Everything went wrong in the night.
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About Diary of a 36th Year
I started writing in a paper journal right after my 36th birthday in October, 2008; it has become a collage of scrapbooking, diary writing, a lady's common place book, printed out web articles and blog entries, photos and pictures, poems, dreams, emails, lists, receipts, found items... What is excerpted here is the less embarrassing, and more textual fragments thereof.
Never, never forgetting Anais Nin, with an eye toward Joanne Kyger's journals & journal poems, and remembering Virginia Woolf's insistence that everything must be documented, the diary blog is a palimpsest of new narrative, old narrative, and post modern collage styles.
Updated every Sunday.
Never, never forgetting Anais Nin, with an eye toward Joanne Kyger's journals & journal poems, and remembering Virginia Woolf's insistence that everything must be documented, the diary blog is a palimpsest of new narrative, old narrative, and post modern collage styles.
Updated every Sunday.
