time without

new year. a thaw of this ice – took barefoot walk in the frosty grass at midnight and tossed some pink, perhaps artificially pink, salmon out for the beasts to lock their jaws around. i am sorry if it was that – an chemically enhanced bless’ed fish. but it is all ii had to offer, world. and beasts.

i made my new year tele calls to Vancouver, to the remote mountains in the west, to Tokyo. i can call japan an it costs me nothing. its a very strange world.

linda introduced us to her grown daughter as if we did not know she had a child. much hilarity across the globe.

they asked after x. i said charming things, born of wishes for us both.  i should not darken the new day. (oh, i should)

the lie it was! loves embitterment went deep. my ineffectual fidelity & my villainous crying! he is laughing over there, lifting a glass. my face is scored with aging sorrow. my dreams are not kind. that lie was my foundation.

i ought have greeted the new year with a rope!

instead i lit candles & fed the beasts, alone.

exhaustion. I recite my talking points on it, the battlement of my old illusion.

i will die from this .. . & my face will be beautiful in death but my brain dug out the gourd by the animals. & that is right. perhaps they will carry a word on to the interested parties.  or some innocent child.

I suppose if i’d hung myself on that beam per the usual plan, these small birds out my window, so busy in the grain that they seem like ping-pong balls in a violent steam bath, they would not have had this day of plenty. there. let that lie persuade me : )

the news,&  augery – thirty animals have died today in a zoo fire in a town in western germany near the border of Holland. the fire was started by celebratory paper sky lanterns. a chimpanzee died – five orangutans died. two gorillas died.. and many fruit bats and birds. i suppose that is our new years augery. auger of the burning world.

seven gorillas, including the famous kidogo, did not die. two chimpanzees, a mature lady chimp named Bally, and a younger male named Limbo, survived. the zoo officials said it is near a miracle that these two were only burned, not dead from the inhalation of smoker.

— news – the just-passed year fixed my blood. for more than just a season, it seems. i wonder why. i should have died of it in may.

because that ailment is righted, i can walk again. for that it was a miracle year, even if the rest was ash.

opine here: thus far on this planet in this strange life – any severity in matters of health i have met have always lifted, & i regain strength & stability –  tho after years – often.  one day i will remember the gains in health after long illness & put it away as i must put away life itself  — .

today: i spilled coffee on the sky blue sweater, so it is black and more black i wear, to greet the new year. a bunny passed my door. i will offer proof.

 

2 j

i dont understand critics that cant perceive quentin tarantinos high tone. he is as lofty & amusing & dense as virginia woolf. they exist in the floating world.

 

3 j.

new year reunion with L. like a pair of old ladies we nodded over our year of illness and said amazed things about our grown children.

 

8 janvier. it is bowie’s birthday. i am still at work where i was. it has been a little eventful.

today the snow came down in a thick curtain for ten minutes. i had the freedom to go out under it, & let it fill my chilled palms.

yesterday there was a bizarre arm of snow crossing the lawn by itself. about 2am.

i ran back & forth trying to make sense of what this odd thing was. it fell thickly enough to be visible under the street light. but step away – the air was empty. i grabbed a flashlight to see if it was hiding its fall in the dark. no.

bowie absence – 4 years. it seems settled. he wont return here. i have recently made a beautiful recording of lets dance in recitation, made haunty & then run backwards.  the marvelous loneliness in my voice of thirty years solitude –  you cant fake it. it is a beautiful possession, better than all the lies in the voices of the dumb well-loved. i would not have the cramp of a lie in my voice.

i suppose even murder reflects itself, has a gained tone.  alas i will never know, & that is your fault.

the sun has emerged on this remarkable day with its strange fresh chill air. there is nothing like the sun here, imagine missing it –

in fact – the sun? i frequently avoid its ministration, as it belongs to another. it was his, like day & love & lunch & kindness. when i visit it, well – i count the minutes i am allowed. when i do at last unchain myself from this place, i will dig a knife into my veins & bleed out before dawn. to see the earth eased out of the dark and into the early blue, & to find sleep, to miss that shock of light from the hills & trees – here is my morning at last – it is how to do it, the best way to go. but how fast does the loathsome body bleed out! must find out that fact first.