Knot

I've been drinking, and I feel that's ok to say because it's one of my concerns here.

It is what it is. Now I'm closing my eyes. And just typing as it comes out. Feeels good man.

I feel tight, and not in the nineteen fifties way of tight as drunk. Tight as my chest is tight... Over what? Posting on a blog? Anonymously?

Tight. As in pain. As in a knot. sitting in the middle of my chest. When it tightens up, it keeps me from doing the kinds of things I know I can do. This damned knot. Gordion. Or gordian. Knot sure.

Dreams of cutting. Others of cutting the knot. But it seems like unwinding is best. But how to?

zen and vaseline

products purchased.

forgotten. virtual graveyard of refuse.

refuse it. refuse it all.

and in the middle distance, an annoyance.

subtle as the waves break. subtle as oysters.

been around, been here and there.

nowhere compares to the high felt along the razor's edge.

cutting. it's something better left undiscussed.

and anyway, there's nothing there but pain.

which takes us away.

in search of an ending.

goddard got it right. end in the middle.

critical voice creeps in. the absolute, the subtle oyster.

the image that doesn't want to end.

but it all comes to an end. everything tied off like a pinnace.

peznez. la playa, under neath the beach... what, exactly.

for the french it was easy.

broken, broken revolution. the fifth republic. the third.

and over the ridge, endless rolling.

a sphere meets, and its ends are its beginnings.

if we all were like that--could reach our toes.

and the backhoe. broken.

like glass in the playground.

like the very chiseled inscription, proclaiming nothing
in latin
so no one can read it
save dead romans
and romans at heart.