1.i’m going through changes.
my body has never been at once so familiar and foreign. looking at her body go through it’s swelling and knowing what that belly holds, what precious DNA from this paired generation, returns the gaze to myself and how much has changed and how little has. i still don’t look like what i imagine myself to be, even after 31 years of looking.
2.nights like this.
nights like this are full of dead space and yearning for sleep. perpetually restless like the urge for a cigarette but knowing that the bitter smoke will never again cross these lips. it’s almost as if it’s become out of fashion to myself more than anything else. i’d love to have one, but i don’t know, the will to smoke seems dull now.
3.shorter than the rest.
shorter than the rest and happier for it. quick and not terribly incisive either. reading websites revolving around Ellis’ PLANETARY. Good stuff, not too heady but hits all the right points. i could have done stuff like that if i only had the attention and stamina for it. it’s always been a question of stamina.
4.he walks in to a bar (something i do often).
he walks into a bar and comes up to the stool. he looks around it for a bit, spins it with his left hand. he bends down close to seat and listens to it whirl. the bartender is cleaning beer glasses when he notices this guy. he shakes his head.
it just dies there.
5.of all the things.
of all the things i could have said, of all the things i could have wanted, there would have been something like this, a lake, a highway, a tree, of all the things that could have been, part of the telling and the wanting, of all the things, just these few, a dress, a table, an apple, of all the things i should have said, should have wanted to say but for the exhaust and the storm and the laughter, wanting to tell you of all the things; that surely would have been something.

1.
And somehow the butter rolls are the best in the morning with a cup of hot chocolate and a bit of a chill. Sometimes even an arcade game while big burly men talked about lumber and cement or something. They were big and fat and wore beards. I was always invisible and always on the way to somewhere else. In the morning, when the rolls were at their freshest and the world had only just begun to roll itself out into the light.
2.
And I can be very good at this, when things come together, when the traces of the logic begin to appear it gets exciting the way this used to, and it’s quick enough and simple enough in its design that, although the task might seem daunting at first, it’s ultimately done the moment it ever appeared. And what makes it more precious is the fact I’m the only one doing it and although I’ll brag there’s a secret rush and peak of joy that I cannot translate with gloating. And it’s good.
3.
And truly things cannot be better save for the lack of money, wouldn’t it be great to have a couple of bucks more, ok, maybe a couple of thousands. Ok, a million and then it’ll set everything straight.
4.
And The West Wing, while the banter is missing, a very keen sense of tension, drama and cinematography has filled the void Sorkin has left. At first it felt very technical, but as the season has moved forward, its gotten more slick and while I’d like to write emotional, it’s not, but rather empathic, less obvious stresses and just beginning to test the waters about what it’s characters are supposed to raving about.
5.
And although the nights are certainly strange I feel a new change come over me, slow and sure but I’m not sure if it’s for good or bad, another degree of coldness and sterility, and it doesn’t quite feel like that, something else entirely, as if each cell is being slowly replaced, which its supposed to, and where does the soul hang out anyway if not in your cells and isn’t quite entirely possible that every seven days or so, every three years or so, you’re an entirely different person from the cells up, even from the soul up. Shouldn’t you change? Wouldn’t you?
6.
And a baby shower tomorrow. And women and presents and laughter. And possibly children and the hope for. And later men, men and their tales of their wives giving birth to their children. And when it’s all done there’ll be just her and her belly and me, my wonderful life locked away within the heart of this woman who is about to offer our child to the world. And to the world I say, I beg, I plead “Please be kind to this child and all the rest if we’re lucky again, please be kind.”
7.
I still dream of horrible death and anguish. I still run with his death heavy across my eyes.

1.
It all ends and begins in tears doesn’t it? Tears of joy, of sorrow. Tears seeping out of the eye duct. Tears along the placenta, the uterine wall. Tears along the aorta.
2.
And they said unto him, ‘You will be promised many things. You will live with the knowledge that you are meant for greater things. You will live under the shadow of vast accomplishments you have yet to undertake. And it will be impressive. But take heart: the moment of your arrival will never come. You will wake everyday thinking that today will be the day of your eternal greatness, but it will never come to pass. You will sense at the edge of your fingers that you could have done something great today, but you never will. You’ve been graced only with the anticipation of what could have been. It will always nag you, it will always hang at the edge of your perception. That sense of more, that sense of greatness, that sense that you too, could have been a god, if only you weren’t you…�
3.
Barely the third day and I�m already tapped out. The fear of the meta-writing, the direct “I can’t write anymore” writing. No, none of that, but it isn’t easy. This was never easy.
4.
I wanted to spill out onto the floor like sunlight in an empty house and fill rooms with warmth and memories in the corners of walls and have stars of dust kick up and shimmer and the edges of staircases soften to the touch and the glass of the panes would not stop me and the floor boards would not stop me and even the foundations would greet me.
5.
How about a her? How about her? How has she been? Alright I guess. You don’t talk anymore? Of course we do, we’re married aren’t we? Well, you�ve both been getting around… It doesn’t mean we don’t talk, just that we don’t fuck….. Ok, that didn’t really work at all.
6.
Try again, try harder. From the book, a scribble: She collects the rent. It�s become a full time job between dropping off the kids at school and picking them up. Her routes weave in and around the West Side and she’s figured out a way to always been within striking distance of the school should the dean or the headmistress need to contact her. She also keeps an aluminum bat in the car because a wooden one will crack if you miss. It’s gotten its fair share of use, scratches criss cross the length of the shaft and the blunt tip is pock marked with craters and specks of what could have been blood. She keeps it in the trunk under the blanket that covers the spare lest the kids take it by accident and she finds herself needing it on her route. At least once a week if not a day. But today she shouldn’t be needing it all, just a stroll in the park, literally.
7.
But what happens here is, I get bored. Or I can’t see it further.