At Work Put yourself in a box, a tin can, an official one. Make lists. Count inventory. Walk the aisles, dreaming art and poetry only at night and on weekends. Watch the light going out. Take notes with a short pencil on a yellow pad: “This is where I left my mind, in this particular […]
Tag Archives: Autobiography
(upon leaving Santa Fe) The darkness intensifies The mountain no longer calls me up Fall has arrived The world descends into chaos Syrian women screaming at the gates Children drowning When we invented the internet (The children of psychedelia) We rejoiced to think the world was saved Through communication And good will Peace. Love. Music […]
So, I’m reading Pynchon again. That’s Thomas Pynchon’s Against The Day, one of his most recent novels. I always go back to Pynchon, the person that made me fall in love with writing. I remember the day and the moment of impending revelation. I remember, in fact the precise angle from which I looked up and above […]
