Good morning. not sure but thinking that I am creeping back to the insomnia that has plagued my life for nearly the entirety of it.
awoke this morning around five and made coffee. There was no desire to return to sleep or the dreams that were replaying there. I thought I heard my son yelling out, far away. I awoke and he was asleep between his mother and myself. I had only heard my brain I think. Do they make noise, is this a function that the scientists and practicing Medical people aren’t aware of yet?
I’ve started to write a cycle of poems about somewhat near history. Yesterday was the inspiration and today there is mention of Mr. Kurt Cobain and his shotgun head wound, along with the birth of Booker T. – interesting Juxtaposition. (I hate that word)
It may be good daily practice for something or may be good on it’s own. I like yesterdays and almost wrote what I had here today but it really needed more work – as you can tell, as I used the word Juxtaposition to describe it. (I hate that word, was this mentioned?)
I am still quite delirious that my writing was recognized by Patrick Tillett and am not sure but have decided it is high time for those cards as it is official. – being award winning that it. I think I was a poet as long as I breathed. Matter of illustration, I asked my father yesterday to provide me with some of my poetry from childhood – I know it existed and he was talking about how they are starting to collect up our juvenilia in regards to our artistic efforts as children; myself (youngest without comment), brother (middle, mildly psychologically bitter about it) and sister (eldest but not bitter about it).
this poem is about someone I never actually met. but this is what happened anyway.
Disambiguation – Wednesday morning 3:21
She had committed harakiri
laying out on the floor with a packaging knife
her daughter had found her at about 3:21
in the morning
it was Wednesday
harakiri, on the floor, packaging knife
Emily home at three
not reading the morning paper
not letting the dog out
not spending another winter in Chicago
not thinking, not hurting
not cleaning the floor
not percolating coffee
not cooking breakfast
for Emily
anymore
– Hoc Scripsi
we end today with a quote…
“Put the incense on, light the candles, and give yourself a hard time.” – John Lennon
Tell your friends and lovers
the platitudes of willful resemblance 