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, December 19, 2021

Out on the Avenue in Berkeley

 

December 19, 1972  (I was 27)

 

Out on the Avenue in Berkeley

the hip artisans have discovered Christmas

and capitalism with a smile of course

Leather bags hand-tooled and dyed

go for forty bucks plus tax

The merchant’s squat is Middle-Eastern

his hash pipes are Madison Ave. eccentric

The poets’ commune is selling plaques

and art conscious bookstores bulge outdoors

with two copies each of 10,000 local writers

folded neatly and stapled between paper covers

no copies of anyone known allowed

Henry Sexounce with wet dreams set in caps and underlined

Down the block the saffron chanter gave me incense

and I gave him fifteen cents so he gave me a glossy magazine

BACK TO THE GODHEAD and I thanked him

The season still has its charm I told my wife

The street mimes were cleverly absurd

and the Santa at Rasputin’s wore clown shoes.

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