how many of us have gazed into the depths of that eternal furnace, penetrating the blue void and the clouds, searching for a god to save us: Christ, Ra, Belenos or Apollo… yes, it would be grand to steal a cupful of the sun. and for a moment pervert the purity of it to shape…
there is always going to be more mail. it comes with each day, with bills and dates and deadlines, and eventually becomes piles of trash in this apartment. I eat crackers and get bits of it in my teeth. what I need now is a drink – maybe vodka – something to wash it all…
the day is overcast and I am south of Tucson staring at clouds through screen windows. this is how it begins as I type and this is how it begins as I sit and wait for the divine inspiration. today, words have been lost through humidity and self-doubt. concepts have been drawn and then re-arranged…