“The thing about life is that you must survive. Life is going to be difficult, and dreadful things will happen. What you do is move along, get on with it, and be tough. Not in the sense of being mean to others, but being tough with yourself and making a deadly effort not to be defeated.” — Katharine Hepburn – Posted from my iPhone.

The lilacs are fading; their petals are falling. The ants have crawled into their holes. The children are restlessly tossing their beds. The horses are chasing their foals. The dark, oh the dark, flies upon us so fast. The little boys roll up and down. Their feet kick the walls, and they churn up the sheets, while sailors jump ship and then drown, and armies hunt men, and butchers kill hogs, and hurricanes level the towns on the coast where the sea goes on slapping the shore, and the dogs run careening like clowns – Posted from my iPhone

I’m sitting here reading the paper, feeling warm and satisfied, basically content with my life and all I have achieved. Then I go up for a refill and suddenly realize how much happier I could be with the barista. Late thirties, hennaed hair, an ahnk or something tattooed on her ankle, a little silver ring in her nostril. There’s some mystery surrounding why she’s here, pouring coffee and toasting bagels at her age. But there’s a lot of torsion when she walks, which is interesting. I can sense right away how it would all work out between us. We’d get a loft in the artsy part of town, and I…

– Posted from my iPhone

Who could need more proof than honey– How the bees with such skill and purpose enter flower after flower sing their way home to create and cap the new honey just to get through the flowerless winter. And how the bear with intention and cunning raids the hive shovels pawful after pawful into his happy mouth bats away indignant bees stumbles off in a stupor of satiation and stickiness. And how we humans can’t resist its viscosity its taste of clover and wind its metaphorical power: don’t we yearn for a land of milk and honey? don’t we call our loved ones “honey?” all because bees just do, over and…

Best Sunday in so so long. – Posted from my iPhone

– Posted from my iPhone

I don’t know how many bottles of beer I have consumed while waiting for things to get better I dont know how much wine and whisky and beer mostly beer I have consumed after splits with women- waiting for the phone to ring waiting for the sound of footsteps, and the phone to ring waiting for the sounds of footsteps, and the phone never rings until much later and the footsteps never arrive until much later when my stomach is coming up out of my mouth they arrive as fresh as spring flowers: “what the hell have you done to yourself? it will be 3 days before you can fuck…

in the cave of the night when you wake and are free and lonely, neglected by others, discarded, loved only by what doesn’t matter–even in that big room no one can see, you push with your eyes till forever comes in its twisted figure eight and lies down in your head. You think water in the river; you think slower than the tide in the grain of the wood; you become a secret storehouse that saves the country, so open and foolish and empty. You look over all that the darkness ripples across. More than has ever been found comforts you. You open your eyes in a vault that unlocks…

I know it’s not bad luck. All that’s happened to me. I understand things end. I am glad I learned this lesson, it wasn’t easy. But I think I’m gonna give 2009 the bird anyway. – Posted from my iPhone