ebb & flow

Tiny fluorescent bedlight makes magic on blankets and wintry dry hands.

I read and listen and watch, and it is all IT when I'm in it.

The Dreamers film tonight and it's all France, women & wine. Kerouac has just brought me again to Mexico, and Lawrence sits me down at an English small-town kitchen table with a garden outside, an alley, and a sad, mean life. And more music than I have ears for. Oh, and news news news (the new kind, not the paper pulp.)

I can live it but it's consumption and not mine and the only thing I'm really living is a job where I struggle and kid myself that I'm valuable and participating in a not even itsybitsy piece of world growth, and some running and playing...

I need new someone(s) to really jive with -- to get on with and go on. And the reason I wanna move outta this city is I haven't been lucky in finding that here. And it's not the city, it's me, but -- man, something's gotta shake these doldrum daydreams.