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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Friday, November 19, 2021

Oh Adeline, why are you mine?

 

November 19, 1977  (I was 33)

 

Oh Adeline, why are you mine?

You came in on my birthday

With a red ribbon in your hair

All your shit all those years

Another birthday and you’re still here

 

Oh Adeline, why are you mine:

You strut around with your ass in the air

Can you really feel so fine

Adeline, don’t you care

Quit your lowdown feline ways Adeline

 

Oh why are you mine?

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