Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
a connoisseur of everything must I watch Iraq destroyed hear lies about Iran practice ignorance of Palestinian distress humor illusions about Afghanistan hold my breath over Darfur Congo Zimbabwe atolls swallowed by the sea relive bloody history where is this my own distracted no wonder let the effect suffice
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:24 PM
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
life-changing music only listen Schubert leans close to heaven carries us along sublime Dante distracted bitches about popes then the radiance beyond blind snow tonight everything white my hoodie memory of Burning Man most purely myself in play lilting lightness antigravitation what we need to die undefeated
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:08 PM
Monday, January 28, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
world-conquering at twenty what's left for us old to do as if it matters rising tides our children's problem it's their children who will sink each avoided pain our gain as each winter day warm spring's comfort is closer leaving gradually then fast enjoy smooth youth's rise
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 9:48 PM
Friday, January 25, 2008
Bill Hart died another lost friend first time we met got lost on back roads western Massachusetts neither one of us knew where we were going fearless laughing in the raging storm saved by a fallen tree blocking the wrong road surprise I wrote him into "Country Music" as the wacko loner neighbor wish I had a picture of him in it perfect presence last time dinner at the Khyber Pass on St. Mark's Place enjoyed him so much so funny unique esprit he was leaving for L.A. came to see a runthrough my new show stumbling star stalling didn't know her lines wretched how I wanted him to like it I still do
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:25 PM
Thursday, January 24, 2008
back to square minus name-the-country-not-to-mention how not write self imaginary lives mere thought knowing invention better cursed by the Worm Queen January 1967 suffering suffered loss unthinkable innocents' revenge never more to be perfectly spontanous
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:36 PM
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Drowning in reading Aeschylus "The Persians" "Ender's Game" "The Bad Girl" by Mario Vargas Llosa Sunday New York Times mealtimes all week New Yorkers piling up beside the toilet New York Review of Books piling up beside my chair The Sun new n+1 Theater and American Theater cancelled Proust months of Shambhala Sun input is good
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 11:21 PM
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Anything can happen; some things do. Who decides? Who is the novelist? What is the real story? Not everything can be told, there isn't time or patience, and who would listen? Isn't truth richer than fiction, less ambiguous, more complex? Can there be a simple life? What you tire of remembering you are free to make up. Facts are the trap, after all, any way of counting, a calendar, a balance, a list. Who is known? Who knows?
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 11:22 PM
Monday, January 21, 2008
Simple instructions perversely understood as self-complicating system empowers confusion sincerity ironicized it's a wonder anything gets going done works pleasures of effective action sweet possible real being turned against other brother fellow human isn't living hard enough imagine billions of wills planet's fearful wealth thus calmed blows deflected energy our delight
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:40 PM
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Softly silk-wrapped latching superwindow ends draft gas-flamed stove purring silently Saint-Saëns workers crawled under insulating floor enjoy warmth unusual moment passing be old miserable shivering huddling blankets months in dark waiting even Dante imagined blinding sun flaming spirits when before turn up heat aftermath masses minus power modern conveniences ease age youth capability rising only slowly slips away
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:53 PM
Friday, January 18, 2008
Too little to do? Long empty days at home, no calls, job, company, few obligations. The library hired someone else. Books to read, periodicals, poets, no time for blogs. Music to practice, play. Books to write, plays, letters, diaries, blog. Clean house, cook, all that. Archives calling. Movies to watch, and tennis, now. Regular swims. I was ready to go back to work. I'd be good. Too much to do? Just right?
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 11:55 PM
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
People so boring no one wants to do anything fun games music amateur theatricals dress up shoot a movie read aloud rearrange the furniture sort the books discuss build a secret room of books furniture blankets play house all together now everyone but me in bed and it's only just nine
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 9:00 PM
Monday, January 14, 2008
Outside it is quiet except for the rushing creek, and the moon shining in deep sky suddenly clear. Inside the house the thermometer is beeping, the temperature falling because the night is clear. A light still on in the neighbor's garage suggests he is awake loading shotgun shells. In our house everyone is asleep except me, staying up, Brahms-bemused, abandoned, air-washer fan humming without surcease.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Now is the moment, routine readily adjustable, fear not. Affliction addiction affection which what is the question. Constant progress individual paradigm economic disaster. No one looking, doors lightly closed, future flying this way. Shower, dress, add leeks, hay later; I'll presumably go as is.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 5:30 PM
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
Boeuf bourguignon slow-cooked all day satisfies hungers. Horse chore solution cheers, relief. I make slow progress, one word at a time. So it always goes. Godot waiters await me, second act. I remember everything. His line. Short twine. Wind resistant eucalyptus. Saute onions, add mushrooms last.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:06 PM
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Flaming barn in the snow! Silver melody resolving to minor. French kisses require tongue because the lips are pursed. Impossible vowels. This is the permanent me, permeable, effulgent, changing only when I must, pursuing not bear but what? Death sting-a-ling. Either dessert is perfect.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 8:53 PM
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Too many good poets how will we choose? I like them almost all. The form allows expression of every extreme, observation, emotion, personal loss or gain. The person embodied in words. How can we judge? Only to compose a festival we must. My fault for inviting so many to apply.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 9:27 PM
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
As the light returns I might move a little faster. That one moves at all these dark days may be mistaken. What are we pretending? Each human span lost repetitions enlightenment gains wars exploitation. Great monasteries rang bells monks rose prayed wrote copies. Few rise above sonata form models the dance.
Monday, January 07, 2008
DeeDee's cottage at Lake Miltona continuous with my chicken house continuous with dude ranch cabins spartan luxury the simple pose preferring plain wood unpretentious style plus curtains of silk art a harpsichord. Snobbery of a nonexistent class plus European avant garde. Happiest memories alternative places fortunate childhood innocent love.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 9:34 PM
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Day "rest" drive rain Ridgefield video try horse Bach Schubert Orson Scott Card explore great barn "lost" provincial lunch urban vibe dry barely awake driving home brief pause salad potluck Grange people fun good food values meet install Ceres Pomona Flora charming not my club too bad wet snow Chopin.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 8:51 PM
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Much more smiling charm responds to beauty. Not just concepts but actual buildings, implied lives attitudes, modeling one's own story. Liam O'Gallagher eluded commonality too late now, I moved away. Gave up in a sense. Every decision a way of giving up on everything else.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:30 PM
Friday, January 04, 2008
In groups of four there are always more than four. (Proust) I may have said too much. They seemed friendly but everything can change faster than you think. I am not really afraid, at this moment. I am not unhappy enough. (Beckett) Still waiting for wise men. My toe not broken after all.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:44 PM
Thursday, January 03, 2008
What is he thinking, sitting beside the pool, looking at his hands, his hair bowl-cut like George's, but dark? George, not much older, liked to put on makeup and a dress and floozy around to records for his friend. The canvas roof leaks a little in the rain. Drops fall at intervals from the edge of the light high overhead. He catches them in his hands. He looks up, sees them fall, catches them in his hands, permits himself a smile.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 9:21 PM
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Having cooked, having made a delicious salad and cut up fruit till I could hardly hold the knife or myself upright, everything ready, napped ten minutes, dressed himself in blue on blue, welcomed, talked about Fassbinder, Dante, the necessity of opposition, filmmaking in Texas, gave away my first iMac, played beautiful music stumbling, farewell cleaned up, in flannel and silk my feet in wool socks massage themselves accepted accepting.
Posted by MICHAELWRITES at 10:32 PM