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Oct 23 2023
10/20/2023 – Not, rather. Part 5
  1. I am what is when you don’t notice.
  2. You notice when it’s not me – when my absence is too much your eyes squint; you reach for a hat, or sunglasses, or use your own hand if I leave quickly.  You notice when my absence is so complete; well, you would, if you even knew what that was like – so complete that your ancestors reached, groped even, for a lantern.  But you?  You don’t know the complete absence of me – the void that is filled entirely.  
  3. You notice if I look nicer than yesterday; but, you don’t notice if I don’t give you either a repeat of a spectacular performance, or a significant improvement on what I gave you yesterday.  
  4. Some people say they like me – they like what I bring; what I conceal; what I reveal.  But really, I know they don’t pay much attention and the little they generally pay is infrequent.  But I am always on time and I always arrive.  And leave.  On time.  I can never, and am never, early or late.  You don’t even notice when I slip out – maybe, on an astute day, you notice I’m gone – but, long after.  Long after I have left. 
  5. I’m like letters.  Unless they do something exceptional, y o u d o n ‘ t r e a l l y n o t i c e e a c h oooonnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeee.  Also, you’ll notice if they do something rong.
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Oct 19 2023
10/19/2023 – So, I’m to believe you? Part 2

So, I’m to believe you that you believe me that I was born on that ridiculously hot day?  Well, I wasn’t.  Sucker.  Apparently you think I”m to believe, but really you believed.  I thought so.  You did.  Anyway, I was born in a lie.  In a lye.  That’s right, straight into the wash.  An old washtub somehow was the first cradle, also the birthing receptacle, and a bit hard on the head, if I recall.  From there, a life of clean-living.  Clean like Miles Davis meant when he said clean.  Look it up – the quote about the dog.  Not the one about sophistication.  That’s what he meant you to believe.  No, the one about the dog.  Yeah, I was born and lived and am dying, THAT clean.  

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Oct 19 2023
10/19/2023 – Not, rather. Part 4
  1. I am what is when you don’t notice.
  2. You notice when it’s not me – when my absence is too much your eyes squint; you reach for a hat, or sunglasses, or use your own hand if I leave quickly.  You notice when my absence is so complete; well, you would, if you even knew what that was like – so complete that your ancestors reached, groped even, for a lantern.  But you?  You don’t know the complete absence of me – the void that is filled entirely.  
  3. You notice if I look nicer than yesterday; but, you don’t notice if I don’t give you either a repeat of a spectacular performance, or a significant improvement on what I gave you yesterday.  
  4. Some people say they like me – they like what I bring; what I conceal; what I reveal.  But really, I know they don’t pay much attention and the little they generally pay is infrequent.  But I am always on time and I always arrive.  And leave.  On time.  I can never, and am never, early or late.  You don’t even notice when I slip out – maybe, on an astute day, you notice I’m gone – but, long after.  Long after I have left. 
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Oct 19 2023
10/18/2023 – Not, rather. Part 3
  1. I am what is when you don’t notice.
  2. You notice when it’s not me – when my absence is too much your eyes squint; you reach for a hat, or sunglasses, or use your own hand if I leave quickly.  You notice when my absence is so complete; well, you would, if you even knew what that was like – so complete that your ancestors reached, groped even, for a lantern.  But you?  You don’t know the complete absence of me – the void that is filled entirely.  
  3. You notice if I look nicer than yesterday; but, you don’t notice if I don’t give you either a repeat of a spectacular performance, or a significant improvement on what I gave you yesterday.  
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Oct 19 2023
10/18/2023 – Not, rather. Part 2
  1. I am what is when you don’t notice.
  2. You notice when it’s not me – when my absence is too much your eyes squint; you reach for a hat, or sunglasses, or use your own hand if I leave quickly.  You notice when my absence is so complete; well, you would, if you even knew what that was like – so complete that your ancestors reached, groped even, for a lantern.  But you?  You don’t know the complete absence of me – the void that is filled entirely.  
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Oct 16 2023
10/16/2023 – So, I’m to believe you? Part 1 

So, I’m supposed to believe you?  Not them?  That I was born in the hot, humid south; and not in the land of dry skin and wintertime itch?  That what I feel at the horizons of my mind, a winter dawn, isn’t real – just because you say so?  When I try to focus on that horizon, it mirages; so, do you hear this as affirmation?  The hot, humid south is lazily, uselessly identified by you – where?  Where, exactly?  After all, everyone was born in one-exact-spot, some 500 or so cubic inches where nothing else can be.  Except all of the history, past, trauma, people, family, bio/physio/mental/subconscious history that can be held within the, what, 50 cubic inches of gray matter and the 500 cubic inches of the bio-memory of the infant?  So, I’m to believe you, instead of all of that, of all of them?

How did I come to these questions, you might ask?  Well, naturally, it was the height of summer.  Hot.  Like, hot enough to inspire Cole Porter hot. 

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