Monday, December 17, 2007


Happy Thanksgiving.
Didn’t steal any land or screw over my neighbors. Steal ideas that would end a certain starvation. But what the hell – my history is of an America quite unsettling quite vile. But it’s ours. It’s what we got, baby. No. John Brown leads that brigade. Emma Goldman master of arms & with isn’t that Gertrude Stein. Hurray America of her blessed past. John Reed pass me a cigarette cause Mark Rudd ain’t old enough back then. Future. America our crazy uncle emerges from the laundry closet. Beautiful as a spring chicken. “Oh” mother cries. “He is so odd”. Between Agnew and Cheney who truly insane? Whose fence shall you perch. Ah, I ramble. Home on the range. Shelter from this storm.

Kelly just visited. Just left. Time so quickly. So spastic. So funny. “Oh, Virginia, leave those monkeys alone”. “I have the worst feeling”. Kelly, I’m sorry I digressed of certain people. Those questions of why & why because. I forgot. I need to “be here” (meaning present. – not I’m a horrid fish & need prison) I filled too much with complaint confusion. Forget that bs. Wonderful to see you. To share alone. Isn’t it strange how much fun we have in the midst of all that. “that” I couldn’t breathe. It was terrific. Thanks. I scream uncle & Tracy, shall we follow in Hamilton’s & Burr’s insanity? I will concede to vp only if you give me my Haig moment. ‘I’m in charge”. I digress. Ate too much turkey. Beautiful snow & a tight breeze. These are kind of letters from camp. (now creepy music) camp from hell. Northern WI hell. Not really. But a friend told me yesterday that these birds aren’t finches but snow buntings. Isn’t that sweet. Big clouds of buntings.

Out walking after lunch a number of guys I know have the same idea. Thanksgiving as a child sucked. Best one ever – my little brother gets drunk. He’s about 10, stands on his chair, “a toast to ham Lincoln”. Doesn’t get any better. Fast forward to my/our family. Colette worked like a scullery maid always an amazing dinner. Stress, yes, but rather silly. The boys & I gave her a hard time. Something she needed to do. Pizza & a movie. Perfect. After separation I agreed to let her have the holidays. The boys & I would get pizza & that movie. Our last Thanksgiving we made amazing hamburgers. Drank some beer & jack. Found a leather jacket for Noah which he later traded to Evan for a hat. It’s now mine. For me the holidays a day off. More craziness. Here it’s alright. It’s what you call a prison day. You know you’re here. I only mind the time not the holiday. When you start to live as every day the first & last. Perspective reigns. I feel bad for these guys though. Some very lost.

Stacy again reminds. Super. Hart Crane was a convict. French prison. So terribly delicious. Popped a cop. Oh how I envy. Instead I get a lecture from my brother of decency. Of demons. I’ve strangled all my demons. & look who America chooses to govern. Wake up.

I say goodbye as Hemingway, “I think Big Harry figured oblivion was some sort of a suburb. Probably an Irish neighborhood.”


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