as the weather man/woman’s predictions – but they are false idols.
Barely awake, managing to sleep in later today (till 7:30am), while not regretting it, thinking I should be a lot more awake by now.
Yesterday I spent the afternoon shifting a pile of logs into a more orderly pile of logs, and looking at the plethora of felled oak left to split. What I need is a small group of strapping young men to effort my garden woes away for the year. I’ll mow and seed, whatever from the comfort and fun of my smallish tractor, but all that remains needs another bloke to care about it and money more than I do.
Tchaikovsky will sober you in the morning.
Just when I expect there to be fresh coffee, inevitably, it is old or empty.
This time it was brewing.
I’ve trained my ear to hear the beep of the coffee maker above all other static. beep beep – ready and I must move as ‘Rosie the Robot’ doesn’t work here – beep beep beep and I have to make more if I want to keep this caffeine high going until I fall to sleep.
I am still trying to train my ear to simply wipe out all the static to hear only the tintinnabulating in my ears from the years of playing in rock bands. If I can manage it then I will be able to write anywhere, as it is I need the quietness of my home or a quietness much like it. Coffee shops are right out but having run two of them I can tell you that no-one likes a guy on a laptop in a coffee shop. A typewriter now, that is tolerated slightly better but only if you are carrying a loaded weapon. Ive never tried the typewriter in a cafe thing as I live in Illinois and it may be illegal here to even admit you have a firearm.
I am babbling and listening to Tchaikovsky, waiting for the double beep of the coffee maker.
no-one minds the guy with a notebook neatly scribbling away anymore though. Interesting. Once the iPad is in the hands of every one then laptops will be okay I think. Or it might be now with the proliferation of texting, sexting and general bathroom graffiti.
but none of this is important. none of this gets me a cup of coffee any faster than my good leg will propel my body to get what it is that is desired.
I am tired of writing letters to people who never write back. I owe a letter to one guy who writes back but lives so close I think I ought to simply invite him over.
Maybe next time I send a letter I will include a sase and paper.
Letter #2104 (one I don’t want)
got your letter.
it reads like a broken heart
(miss our after moments
be mine again)
love letter.
it isn’t is it?
or what is it.
I wonder what it is you really miss.
is it me, or the attention I gave you.
is it our conversations or that you got to
feel important for the afternoon.
is it our supposed friendship or, now,
you are bored.
I am not your midnight man.
I am not your backdoor lover.
only that which I have
always been for you,
a stranger on a distant
beach looking the other way;
or turned around
or something else entirely.
what’s the least awkward thing to
say here.
what is it?
you woke up this morning
and want me to care.
you see…
it fucks up my whole day.
– Hoc Scripsi
Tell your friends and lovers
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the platitudes of willful resemblance 