Happy New Year why? Hello, again and again. 20, 21, 22, 23 if I live to see it. Which really is a question (GBM, anyone?).
Ah, well. Here we go again. Something to say, not sure what it is.
It’s probably the pleasure centers of the brain that insist on ”gratitude” and an attitude of gratefulness is the great insistence of cultures. No one likes a complainer.
We’re all living and to some extent that implies a sameness: We’re all on this same adventure, sharing the same misfortune of a brain that is almost too big to fit through the birth canal. That is really too big for its own britches.
It’s OK not to know what you’re saying. Robert Bly: “It’s OK …,” “It’s OK …,” “It’s all right,” “It’s all right.” Charles Bukowski, on his tombstone: “Don’t try.” Why try? For us, I guess, the occasion of a new year! Yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away.
I can’t seem to get any traction here. That’s the problem with irony. Am I too old to be sincere? Turning 35 and that’s halfway to 70.
I started waking up at 5AM to write, probably because of Bly. Sometime in December. Dark mornings. It’s 10:21AM on New Year’s Day and the Chiefs are playing tomorrow and they haven’t won or lost yet. I’ve written some but not all.