Stacy arrives today amongst 6 months till the day since I’ve arrived.
I walked the yard today. Urgency of a run - direct as a knife. My long song mantra….
“like a bird on a wire…like a drunk in a midnight choir…I have tried, in my way, to be free”. Walk turns to pushups. Pushups move piston. Piston cranks my thighs & morning parts her thighs. “I walked with a zombie. I walked with the zombie, last night”. My fist pounds thigh. Anger burns- not campfire style rather, candle. Delicate slinks down wick. I pour wax into my mouth. Cancer covered anger spits out my mouth. No hole in which to rot. “Like a bird on a wire………………….”
before 8am, he said
too many corners
not enough shadow.
his first wife dead.
discovered in the bathroom.
later tat reads
In William Wantling’s The Source, Len Fulton’s forward proclaims “Bill Wantling is the first to admit that finally and practically a man blows his own chances. He hasn’t had many and he’s blown some. But Aristotle observed that a man who never made a mistake never made anything…..and America today is full of people with no documented flaws.”
I add Amen.
“I have tried in my way to be free”. Cohen leaves me speechless & universal nod.
“Like a worm on a hook, like a knight from some old fashioned book I have saved all my ribbons for thee”.
It’s closing in on 10am.
There are many words for prison – the most fitting…bittersweet. Just got back from property. Gina Myers, God bless her soul, sent me 3 books. Well without a receipt everything gets returned. So I mailed to Kelly & will get them later. This is the story – everything besides letters & photos must go thru – 1730 W. Snell Road, Oshkosh, WI, 54901. Everything must have a receipt. The best way for me to get books is thru Amazon, if you get my drift.
Anyway, thank you Gina for the gifts & wonderful letter. Please send me/Kelly your address. Ok?
& thanks again for the intro to Richard Lopez.
Stacy just left. Walk back to my dorm air is cooler. My dinner is waiting as are a few friends. Talking with Stacy brings me back outside. Our tears comfortable in the sun. Sitting on the same side of our picnic bench. What can be said. What is said. Time waits. Give us time to breathe. I have such good friends. We have no fear. Stacy has been by my side forever. I remind her “you were with me when I was dying”. I reach at straws. Our sadness refuses to leave. She suggests a common idiot we joke about to take my place. I fall in love with her all over again. I explain I just got Ceravold’s Fits of Dawn. She knew it was circulating the internet. We talk of other books I might need. I will call Stacy in August. Such a dear, beautiful friend. She makes me happy & proud. I miss Stacy.
Back in the yard more tension. I’m tired of this bullshit drama. The contrast between here & there makes my heart sink. Exhausted, I read Fits . Thankful.
Sunday morning – just received Joel Dailey’s “Fellswoop”. Always a great read. He just did a fantastic Ted Berrigan issue. If you haven’t seen - look for it. Try here –
Fellswoop, 3003 Ponce de Leon St., New Orleans, LA, 70119. Joel is a fantastic poet/publisher – wonderful friend & from our words, a great dad. Met years ago & have passed our work back & forth. A huge (like myself) Berrigan fan. We live & breathe Berrigan Humidity. Again, Joel, “thumbs up!”
Today will be quiet – thoughtful- Kerouac under evergreen tree. I will bring you up to date on current exploits & will fill you in on some issues that would/could have landed me in the hole. I needed to sit back & grasp that behavior to understand. I leave you with this – United we stand Divided we fall. It’s sad to waste our words – actions-love-even anger. Live as an arrow soaring thru space. I learned to throw horse shoes last night.
5 ringers when I stopped thinking.