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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Sunday, September 20, 2020

Life is sacred only in expression

 

September 20, 1972  (I was 27)

 

Life is sacred only in expression

The artist loves his paint

only as the paint worships the artist

 

On the palette self-contained thick hues

On the canvas the art runs off

or is caught and carried by the brush

 

The paint reacts

It would color the floor

The artist has other ideas

 

smaller in dimension larger in concept

The theory may be shaky

but the execution deft

 

People will say

Who did this

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