| I wrote this on my typewriter last night; they're just notes or sketches, really; felt like sharing it; but then my scanner broke. The cunt. It snowed Saturday night, a good five inches or so. It didn’t fall down properly but in tiny pieces blown around so that it looked like a fog a cold fog. My father was shoveling the drive when I came down at noon for my first sleepy-eyed cigarette; he did a good job—the drive was perfectly clear by the end of it. Since then the days have warmed a little bit more of it aw- ay, which the night freezes, laying down sheet upon sheet of acetate on the unsalted pavements. I hate the goddamn snow. I’ve been working so hard I am strung out & overwhelmed If only there was not quite so much work The city is very cold & it has really barbaric wind blowing through it—so hard that I have to hold my coat together against it and leave the cigarette in my mouth. I keep thinking of her & I am very worried ab out the whole situatio n The new year came and I was glad because the words were just running out of me and I felt as if I were the King of the Known Universe. Now the words have gone. It takes me three (3) tries to get it down—and even then it is utterly unattractive to me. It will return. It always does. It’s just very difficult to live without being able to write. Maybe I should start trying to write in (phonetic) dialects; you know, some of them are very interest- ing! I could never write phonetically. I can’t bear it. Sometimes even elision makes me wince! No, I will just wait it out, ride it out. masterplan i) meet her somewhere sunny ii) laugh iii) hold hands like we’re ten-years-old iv) fuck like it’s valentine’s day v) learn something about her no one else knows vi) make love like it’s new year’s eve vii) never lose interest viii) dedicate an Otis Redding song to her on local radio ix) write about it like a good boy I feel much better knowing it’s all down on paper. |
Thursday, February 9
8-2-12
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