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.


Comments Welcome!

Sunday, May 9, 2021

Poets

 

May 9, 1974  (I was 29)

 

Poets

are people who

have something to say

and therein lies the pain

of one who has a method

 

If the medium is the massage*

the message will be

delusion fear hypocrisy

and situations beyond our control

 

Machines aren’t that neat

We ought to do more

than imitate the light that sparks

when plug

meets receptacle

 

Moog

makes every sound

from arp to zap

for no other reason than keyboard and switch

and we’re always in the backroom

rewiring a future

 

*the spelling is correct; See Marshall Mc Luan

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