"I Tramp a Perpetual Journey"
Great Scott! Three hours and some minutes and my place, this little shabby hole in the queer section of Chicago, is, at last, clean and smelling like sage and citrus... and various other chemical products. The sun is crashing in with great terror, scorching everything, heating up the said shabby hole, and I am alone and sweating, thinking of a reality to write upon.
This weekend was fine... everything was just fine. The weather was fine. Walking down the Spanish streets of West Town was fine. A visit from my mother for her day was fine. Talking to a certain someone was fine. Slept in early last night and dreamt a fine dream. Blissfully fine.
The ivies on the building across from me are in full splendor- green and raging with bees of many sorts.
I have not written a thing for a week. I am a little low in creativity and desire. When this happens I become quiet and withdrawn, thinking of what my purpose on this spiraling planet is for, and then I realize that I am wasting time and I find myself, with a blank mind, at the computer, unable to say anything worthwhile.
Sometimes when I get lonely, which seemed to pervade my very being this week, I just let it run its course and find ways, mostly mental, to let it not overwhelm me and go out and have a beer, a good conversation, dive into a book, go to bed and let dreams carry me into tomorrow. It's Sunday and I am no longer lonely. It's a dying Sunday... and I'm ready for the night, because I must get to work.
This weekend was fine... everything was just fine. The weather was fine. Walking down the Spanish streets of West Town was fine. A visit from my mother for her day was fine. Talking to a certain someone was fine. Slept in early last night and dreamt a fine dream. Blissfully fine.
The ivies on the building across from me are in full splendor- green and raging with bees of many sorts.
I have not written a thing for a week. I am a little low in creativity and desire. When this happens I become quiet and withdrawn, thinking of what my purpose on this spiraling planet is for, and then I realize that I am wasting time and I find myself, with a blank mind, at the computer, unable to say anything worthwhile.
Sometimes when I get lonely, which seemed to pervade my very being this week, I just let it run its course and find ways, mostly mental, to let it not overwhelm me and go out and have a beer, a good conversation, dive into a book, go to bed and let dreams carry me into tomorrow. It's Sunday and I am no longer lonely. It's a dying Sunday... and I'm ready for the night, because I must get to work.