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Week comes to a close. Figured I’m finished with Killing Time. Will type & get ready for finished product. Then wrap up the first part, Strike Hard Old Diamond. Then I’ll get going on the third and final part of this whole sleep walk. Been getting some fantastic letters. Julie R. brings is all home for me. We lost each other & now we’re found. She has a huge loving heart. Smart as all get out. Solid political mama. Her words tender my breast. Reflect again. Kelly found my older brother Mark. Again uncle Kelly solves the mystery. I’m so deep within this well. Should I be grateful for this imprisonment? If not could/would I ever understand blood of love, or would I forever wallow in self-pity. I do respond quickly to desperate situations. Not much of a toad.
Finished Mysterious Island by Verne. Perfect read for prison. Again, would I have had time to read outside. I’m a child again within that candy store. Now it’s O Pioneers by Willa Cather. I read My Antonia in Dodge. Fell in love with her there. Such a direct perfectly chosen document of America of true grandeur. Her people. Ours. Their courageous struggle. Subtle though oh so profound victories. I, like Capote, adore her. He though had the honor of meeting her, alas, I missed that boat with both. I have my own pocket of riches. Speaking of which, got a sweet delicious letter from Stacy. So I’m returning my thoughts. Mid-sentence announced Tom Waits on radio. Oh fuck. That monster in the closet. Sure enough, Time, by him. I’m trying to convey this/that pain that struggle wrestle with memories. Yikes. I turn off light & let that bitch out. I howl and tear my heart out. Everything falls out. I mean I’m sobbing. Sobbing like the bottom just fell out. It was great. Quite simply my river. Time begins ends with melody. With warble of chords. Stammer of aggression. At a very early, older brother & sister point me in that direction. Dance motherfucker dance. My release. I can’t sing so I spaz. Can’t quite spaz in prison so yes sometimes I howl. Caught last night by neighbor. “yeah, I have a horrible voice” “yep”. Life is a shoe make that little shit fit. It was/is great to have a dormant volcano within one’s chest. Except for a little steam, not a lot of warning before we blow. My addictions: chaos & emotion. That tight tight rope. Pull ‘til almost snap then just hold it. Thank you all for yr thoughts, words. Human contact.

Later.

P.S.

I wish all a Happy Thanksgiving. Please scratch below that surface & surprise one with your thought, word or gentle nudge. For today all we have. Need. Always.