Rising.
Rising. Birds Make Such Good Symbols
Circling high up against a whitish cream sky: A raptor—falcon or eagle—so high I couldn't tell. It looked large—6 feet of wings—but at such a height, it's hard to judge. It circled into the sun's eye, and I was lost. Lost in its disappearance. I felt that obliteration was sweet.
No wonder Stephen King says to put your desk against a wall. I finished this, & I started that, but that is unfinished & trivial. Not worth effort. I made some phone calls. I got no email. I got Caro's loan. No other mail.
A rackety aimless day. My arm was bad, then better. When it's bad, I know that it is going to do nothing but get worse. I don't have faith in improvement. I want to cover some territory. I want to say some goodbyes. I want to go into the hushed dark.
Or circle into the eye of day and disappear on scarce-stirring wings. Remember the lake? Remember the jokes we made about Tomas being carried off by an eagle? Me too, please.
Something splendid.
BM Starbucks 2/14/01
How Much?
How much more am I going to take? It's funny how you get used to things. Like: Pressure in my neck, a sore arm. Bad sleep. Evil thoughts—
Well, it does add up to a hill of shit, I'd have to say. Instead of good news, instead of my tax refund, I get a leak in my toilet tank.
Instead of my kind, I have my kin, even indirect. I feel stymied. Have I, since I've been here, had one decent time, I mean of fellowship? ...oh, maybe that camping trip with F. Maybe a meeting w/ Liz or one of the coffee kvetches with Jana. One of the JHY visits. I don't know, I think if I wanted to point to all my old friendships, I'd just be romanticizing. Fabricating.
I'm scraping rock, as far as writing goes. Without time or assurance. With a ready-made excuse (don't start what you can't finish) (and besides it's all derivative). I mess around with pointless essays. My only talent is for taking a great idea & making it into something schlocky. Or shlocky.
What I don't understand is why nothing comes back to me. Are my throws that feeble or is it a yawning chasm out there? What is it?
BM Starbucks 2/15/01
There, see?
I got my tax return & did a little dance at the cash machines. $140; I can buy everything I want. I bought a half-pound of coffee, I bought soap. I'm going to buy ice cream & turkey & carrots & I don't know what all.
It snowed. 6-8 inches over night, melting off the trees & eaves already as I got up. I didn't feel like snow-walking, so I stayed home & read yesterday's papers, till I was sick of that. Then I went out & it was getting messy. I had no emails. My only snailmail was notice of unemployment claim. TES Marian called. Niece Karen called. I hope Carolyn doesn’t want to get together. Though it wouldn't kill me...is it better to be bored (or annoyed)? It's sort of the same principle as being poor so you can feel rich. Still, now that I have enough money so I need not pinch, or not as much as I have been, I don't have an excuse not to write to JHY. No good one, but the best: disinclined.
Life seems a balsa wood box collapsed into a parallelogram. Narrow.
15th Ave Starbucks 2/16/01
Circling high up against a whitish cream sky: A raptor—falcon or eagle—so high I couldn't tell. It looked large—6 feet of wings—but at such a height, it's hard to judge. It circled into the sun's eye, and I was lost. Lost in its disappearance. I felt that obliteration was sweet.
No wonder Stephen King says to put your desk against a wall. I finished this, & I started that, but that is unfinished & trivial. Not worth effort. I made some phone calls. I got no email. I got Caro's loan. No other mail.
A rackety aimless day. My arm was bad, then better. When it's bad, I know that it is going to do nothing but get worse. I don't have faith in improvement. I want to cover some territory. I want to say some goodbyes. I want to go into the hushed dark.
Or circle into the eye of day and disappear on scarce-stirring wings. Remember the lake? Remember the jokes we made about Tomas being carried off by an eagle? Me too, please.
Something splendid.
BM Starbucks 2/14/01
How Much?
How much more am I going to take? It's funny how you get used to things. Like: Pressure in my neck, a sore arm. Bad sleep. Evil thoughts—
Well, it does add up to a hill of shit, I'd have to say. Instead of good news, instead of my tax refund, I get a leak in my toilet tank.
Instead of my kind, I have my kin, even indirect. I feel stymied. Have I, since I've been here, had one decent time, I mean of fellowship? ...oh, maybe that camping trip with F. Maybe a meeting w/ Liz or one of the coffee kvetches with Jana. One of the JHY visits. I don't know, I think if I wanted to point to all my old friendships, I'd just be romanticizing. Fabricating.
I'm scraping rock, as far as writing goes. Without time or assurance. With a ready-made excuse (don't start what you can't finish) (and besides it's all derivative). I mess around with pointless essays. My only talent is for taking a great idea & making it into something schlocky. Or shlocky.
What I don't understand is why nothing comes back to me. Are my throws that feeble or is it a yawning chasm out there? What is it?
BM Starbucks 2/15/01
There, see?
I got my tax return & did a little dance at the cash machines. $140; I can buy everything I want. I bought a half-pound of coffee, I bought soap. I'm going to buy ice cream & turkey & carrots & I don't know what all.
It snowed. 6-8 inches over night, melting off the trees & eaves already as I got up. I didn't feel like snow-walking, so I stayed home & read yesterday's papers, till I was sick of that. Then I went out & it was getting messy. I had no emails. My only snailmail was notice of unemployment claim. TES Marian called. Niece Karen called. I hope Carolyn doesn’t want to get together. Though it wouldn't kill me...is it better to be bored (or annoyed)? It's sort of the same principle as being poor so you can feel rich. Still, now that I have enough money so I need not pinch, or not as much as I have been, I don't have an excuse not to write to JHY. No good one, but the best: disinclined.
Life seems a balsa wood box collapsed into a parallelogram. Narrow.
15th Ave Starbucks 2/16/01
posted by K. E. Ellingson at 4:02 PM
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