Monday, May 19, 2008


  1. when i woke up, i did not have to recall what led me here

  2. i find hotel rooms and friends' spare bedrooms a rare treat. i miss beds. i miss blankets you have relationships with

  3. there was a time i knew where streets led. felt local, could advise about best places to eat, which cinema had the best seats and where i once skipped class to make out with a girl... in short knew a place- start of sidewalk to end

  4. my homes always had pianos, pianos have 88 fingers that met mine. i never feel lonely with pianos. they always know what to say to me

  5. having pictures, quotes, drawings on the wall. i too often cannot remember myself.... i need my constellations, i cannot navigate... i am losing

  6. books. books. books. books. Here are the few I miss the most:
    ____- William Blake, an introduction (has color plates of the artist's drawings also)
    ____- Pablo Neruda, Collected Poems, a bilingual edition
    ____- Prayers and Meditations, Baha'u'llah
    ____- Piano Concerto #3, Sergei Rachmaninoff (i love the score)

  7. knowing my address and phone number off by heart

  8. why do i feel so dizzy all the time?

  9. my cds. here are a few that I am missing these days:
    ____- Shostakovich, Symphony #5
    ____- Mozart, Violin Sonatas (E flat... and... i can't even remember
    ____- Bach, Mass in B minor

  10. that feeling of 'I'm homeness' when you walk in the door

  11. knowing where to park

  12. not having to ask myself how long will i be here? several times each day

  13. praying to know the last line/ not knowing if this is the start of something or the end/ i will show you fear in a handful of dust

  14. i am building too many memories. i am growing too old. i cannot carry soo much in my head. i get dizzy every time i stand up now. for every inanimate object i have an anecdote. i find only trees seem to speak my language. i am growing old too prematurely, i have no peers save the trees. my hands shake like their twigs. i am something also that floats in the wind

  15. i don't feel safe. i cannot be protected from it- i do not know exactly what it is- it is whatever led me here. i am too small for you. i am too small. i am sorry. i am. i

  16. besides the highway entrance, under the shadow of a dusty tree, on the dust, the wayfarer sits and stares away. His wrist wipes the sweat off his forehead. Summer is here, all things glow white. We are in the sun's heaven. He cries audibly to himself and rocks back and forth, mumbling. Most fundamental prayer God gave us we say with our bodies- not out souls.

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