i don’t know what happens here at the arm of the great barn door the moment the day breaks through itself & the night capsizes between two watery thighs if the earth was made of salt we’d all be starving little belly full of hay sun breeze & a giant mud stage with a tambourine [...]
Tag: creative
Faux
This post is formatted to reflect an original journal entry. 1/19/19 A cozily dreary Saturday. Sitting on the floor cushion in my office, where I do all of my writing, listening to Lindsey Buckingham. (Did I mention “I’m So Afraid” was the inspiration for the guitar solo portion of Seven Road? Or that I touched [...]
Mysterium
This post is formatted to reflect an original journal entry. 1/13/19 I am fully engaged in the process of creating my own myth. The truth smacks me like a glove. I have been wrong. I have spent the day—nay, every free moment in the past three days—reading, breathless, Carl Jung’s The Red Book and Memories, [...]
Supernova
This post is formatted to reflect an original journal entry. 1/9/19 Spent most of the day working on a poem that hasn’t fully formed yet. Best thing that happened today: I acquired The Legendary Christine Perfect Album (1970) for my vinyl collection. Post-Chicken Shack, pre-Fleetwood Mac Christine McVie. Gritty, bluesy, fun listening. Finished Huxley’s The [...]
Halo
there was under the bridge halfway between 7th and Broad a mural in three scenes that coated the air like a prism a concrete mosaic made of glass and stone that sat next to a skyscraper with no soul a portraiture of infinite variations a half-moon a blue jean dream a wall to shut from [...]
Midnight Chill
This post is formatted to reflect an original journal entry. 12/27/18 Winding down this evening by settling back into my writing routine. After a long day, I find it’s best to reconnect by writing longhand in a notebook. Reading Maslow and listening to some newly acquired vinyl. My mind is teeming with thoughts: First, self-actualization [...]
Free Form
This post is formatted to reflect an original journal entry. 12/23/18 Spent most of the day reading. And writing in between spurts of cookie-making. Ricotta cookies. Nothing tastes more like Christmas. Except maybe my aunt’s lasagna, a big slice of ham, and a glass of the Dago Red that was bottled in the neighbor’s basement. [...]
