odds & ends

in a half hour, at midnight, i turn another year older.  i'm old.  depending on one's point of view.  or i am not old.  depending on one's point of view. 

the obsession with language and images = the constant thinking how to make these into poems.

it is still in the 80s F. at 11:39 p.m.  that kind of heat makes you think on a life.

i was explaining cosmic inflation to nick yesterday.  he said could the big bang be caused by two universes colliding?

i have this question: how many lives does one get?

i am writing a blurb for a book by a poet i love very much.

i am taking the day off work tomorrow because i am asking how many lives does one get.

i am thinking of carl sagan's speach about a photograph of our earth taken from voyager spacecraft way out in our solar system.  sagan calls our earth the pale blue dot.

i am [un]learning action as non-action

at my age i need to seriously chill, about everything.

i know how stupid the desire for fame and yet. . .and yet. . .

so many subjects i shall never learn well, or at all.

would it were a course called physics for dummies.

i must learn to shun the shame i feel when i say the noun, poet, in public.

i asked a poet friend on friday what roman poet do you feel the closest to.

i am playing catch up, to everything.