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 6, 2020

Time is out of joint

 

from this week in September, 1972  (I was 27)

 

Time is out of joint

might as well anoint my head

as even try to lift me from this bed

there is no point

Let’s you and I take a joint time out

Hope to shout hope to shout

join my groin in a groan

screw the phone  Damn

I feel like a paper doll

that can’t get folded again

I tell you it’s out of joint

or I lost the point

You can’t put a cast on time

I tried that last time

Now I just run up the hill at night

(it’s outasight) bad back or not

I don’t know if there are more snakes out during the dark

but I sure as hell hear more still 

I ain’t been bit yet

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