Week ending June 13
Everyone is swimming in the most inappropriate places.
Someone explain the presence of helicopters.
How the tambourine used to terrify me.
falling in the sand dune, naked, an earthquake
In this equivalency I would be much neater.
But I would have nowhere to sit.
Nothing seems clearer in the morning.
I'm always in a forest.
There is so much to do only
because I am not distinguishing.
The most intermediary space.
The secret, is a secret.
Everyone is talking about fireballs and there are books already.
I told her every story except the true one.
"Signlessness;the non-conceptualization of things"
Ideas are a placemat.
I don't like that problem.
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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.
