the morning after, I truly love being married to the specific person I am, there are reasons beyond the intense love making but this morning that is the reason.
Laura, the beloved muse of Petrarch died today in 1348 while mine lives not yet fully as I am living, but getting there.
at the moment I am listening to the incomparable Ana Vidovic, playing Torroba classically on a specific made guitar. These are fingers that I love to listen to, strings that squeeze my own heart.
there are other comments that go here and later I will place them in another post, or even here, who knows, I wanted to reach out with this now before I start my first busy day that is filled withsomethingotherthan writing.
speaking of which, I am becoming amazed at my daily output lately. First I write here, then work on my stories, poems and such – at night I write in my journal. Now, anyone can do these things but I never allow myself to write without concentration and intention. Also, my journal entries would fill 3-4 pages typewritten. I apparently have a lot to say.
everything here is related.
that was E.E. Cummings.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 