I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Back in the day

 

September 30, 2017   (I was 72)

 

Back in the day

when I’d write late at night

I thought it would awaken insight

to the noire side its atmosphere and feeling

melancholic melodies played solo

depressive cigarettes and whiskey

to capture an uncertain mood

encountering more than doubt

maelstroms of swirling discontent

with light at a table a roof overhead

and a bed to sleep it off 

It was an imagined venture

back when I knew I’d awaken young

energized by the unreality of it all

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