air on a g string; everyone said it better than I did.

What a fucking weekend. I worked a heavy week last week and slept for shit Friday. Bucket had a third cousin get married yesterday (which in her family is like a brother or sister) so they had the whole shebang complete with a salsa band and open bar. I must confess the consumption of a Becks or three. I had news come during this mornings practice (well, confirmation) of the demise of an entity I was once a part of. I found this sadder news than I'd have believed it could be. Perhaps they'll all stop with the hating me. Gentlemen, My love for you has not diminished with time or treatment and I hope that all can pass quietly and quickly. I wish for all of you the happiness I've found. Let's get lunch.

I spent a good deal of time driving around, lamenting all the stripmalls I knew as cornfields in my youth. Goodbye Randall Rd. Fare-the-well Route 59. Oh well, time's a mean motherfucker and you either toughen up or get the hell out of the way. Pity this busy monster, manunkind,

Thanks, e.e., though progress is not the comfortable disease you claim. Memory, besides being a creative force to rival the best minds of any century is a tumor and stone boots. Here I go again. I sometimes wish I could white wash every damn memory I hang on to. Sanitize it and innoculate it. I need these wishes for the past like I need a cup cake.

Comfort, though, not in this life. listen:there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go.

1 comment:

Arethusa said...

Now I'm all curious about which e.e. poem that's from, and rummaging for my collection that's around here somewhere...

Don't poke at the tumour too long, eh?