Turkish Rondo
Turkish Rondo
(Look, it's the equinox...)
I could be eating myself to death with all these buttery fats & the sugar. Digging my grave with my dessert fork.
But I wonder why I only feel my jugular (carotid?) twanging on the right side. Does this mean anything?
Yes, it means I need to get out earlier & to walk further. I think I'm doing less since I quit working. Then I'd walk at lunchtime & hoof it up the hill at the end of the day. Now…now I lie around feeling worse & worse until the coffee does its job.
And I don't like the novel either.
And my shoulder blades have started burning again.
And the evil thoughts keep coming back. Like a black dog? Like crows pecking away at your dead cat? Or the yellow jackets to your picnic plate? Oh god, they're back.
Here comes a parade of kids. Kids these days wear blue-jean bellbottoms & zip-front hooded sweatshirts. An outfit I had 25 or 30 years ago.
I need to walk.
OW*Bux 9/21/01
If the Sycamores Begin to Blush like Apples Ripening...
Can winter be far behind? Vivaldi is there already & perfectly pleased with it. (It's a rather Italian-Alp kind of winter.) Trumpets blare & young Daniel looks through the Gay News. I don't know why he comes to sit by me, he doesn't really...emote. But then, he's a dancer & you (we) know how dancers are – they express themselves with their point(e). Hey, actions speak loud.
I used to be a lusty wench, now I'm invisible. I disappeared in Seattle. Now I can watch Polish-looking guys (Swabian?) (maybe Swiss?) pouring themselves green drinks. It must be health food; it looks poisonous.
The light today, with the sun due west, reminds me of some walk I took up or down 24th Street in S.F. The health food bakery (& all its poisonous looking cakes & pies... Lies, they looked okay, only a little short of appetizing. They tasted poisonous)...
Then the light goes. I remain out of sight. Out of view.
Considering my sheer transparency, I ought to ignore my hair & worry more about the condition of my soul – or arteries.
I should be drinking green concoctions & eschewing tobacco. I'm crackling like a transducer. Soon be over.
OW *Bux 9/22/01
Finished & Done
I used to be a lusty wench – after last I wrote, Daniel came back & asked me if I said anything about him, so I read him what I wrote, and he wasn't sure that I hadn't insulted him at first, but then:
But then, when I said dancers express themselves with their bodies, he offered me a lap dance. When I told him I only accepted lap dances from cats, he said he'd get those little kitty ears & pretend.
Well! I bit my thumb knuckle & screeched owww! No, really. I left with all the little middle-aged dignity I could muster, but once I got outside, I started snickering.
Another perfect autumn day. (I tried to call it "fall" & Lee corrected me – he drew an emblematic leaf...and, look, it's almost over...)
Clarion afternoons. Brass notes from sun/god. He’s south bound, but lingering. No hurry.
I write. I think about fiery death. The plunge. How we become inhuman. Most of creation (evolution) is nonhuman.
We have to have eyes to see. We have to be separate to love it. (It is not obliged to love us back.)
We are done to be undone.
I would love for some feline to pussyfoot across my wall-to-wall lap. Yes, lord.
B.M./O.W Starbux 9/23/01
(Look, it's the equinox...)
I could be eating myself to death with all these buttery fats & the sugar. Digging my grave with my dessert fork.
But I wonder why I only feel my jugular (carotid?) twanging on the right side. Does this mean anything?
Yes, it means I need to get out earlier & to walk further. I think I'm doing less since I quit working. Then I'd walk at lunchtime & hoof it up the hill at the end of the day. Now…now I lie around feeling worse & worse until the coffee does its job.
And I don't like the novel either.
And my shoulder blades have started burning again.
And the evil thoughts keep coming back. Like a black dog? Like crows pecking away at your dead cat? Or the yellow jackets to your picnic plate? Oh god, they're back.
Here comes a parade of kids. Kids these days wear blue-jean bellbottoms & zip-front hooded sweatshirts. An outfit I had 25 or 30 years ago.
I need to walk.
OW*Bux 9/21/01
If the Sycamores Begin to Blush like Apples Ripening...
Can winter be far behind? Vivaldi is there already & perfectly pleased with it. (It's a rather Italian-Alp kind of winter.) Trumpets blare & young Daniel looks through the Gay News. I don't know why he comes to sit by me, he doesn't really...emote. But then, he's a dancer & you (we) know how dancers are – they express themselves with their point(e). Hey, actions speak loud.
I used to be a lusty wench, now I'm invisible. I disappeared in Seattle. Now I can watch Polish-looking guys (Swabian?) (maybe Swiss?) pouring themselves green drinks. It must be health food; it looks poisonous.
The light today, with the sun due west, reminds me of some walk I took up or down 24th Street in S.F. The health food bakery (& all its poisonous looking cakes & pies... Lies, they looked okay, only a little short of appetizing. They tasted poisonous)...
Then the light goes. I remain out of sight. Out of view.
Considering my sheer transparency, I ought to ignore my hair & worry more about the condition of my soul – or arteries.
I should be drinking green concoctions & eschewing tobacco. I'm crackling like a transducer. Soon be over.
OW *Bux 9/22/01
Finished & Done
I used to be a lusty wench – after last I wrote, Daniel came back & asked me if I said anything about him, so I read him what I wrote, and he wasn't sure that I hadn't insulted him at first, but then:
But then, when I said dancers express themselves with their bodies, he offered me a lap dance. When I told him I only accepted lap dances from cats, he said he'd get those little kitty ears & pretend.
Well! I bit my thumb knuckle & screeched owww! No, really. I left with all the little middle-aged dignity I could muster, but once I got outside, I started snickering.
Another perfect autumn day. (I tried to call it "fall" & Lee corrected me – he drew an emblematic leaf...and, look, it's almost over...)
Clarion afternoons. Brass notes from sun/god. He’s south bound, but lingering. No hurry.
I write. I think about fiery death. The plunge. How we become inhuman. Most of creation (evolution) is nonhuman.
We have to have eyes to see. We have to be separate to love it. (It is not obliged to love us back.)
We are done to be undone.
I would love for some feline to pussyfoot across my wall-to-wall lap. Yes, lord.
B.M./O.W Starbux 9/23/01
posted by K. E. Ellingson at 4:07 PM
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