I have been drowing in work lately. I try to spend more time with myself, away from all the other people. I try to read but I am running out of books. I haven't had time to go shopping for books. It is getting dark early and the winter is almost here. Tomorrow, perhaps in Athens, I will finally see some sun. Looks like Monday I am not going to Germany because of a change in meeting venue. All sorts of things up in the air.
Games, games, games. I haven't spoken to my friends in a while. I haven't really found some productive silence to write. I think about wastelands and winter landscapes. I wonder why Michael Richards turned out to be such a racist and deeply disappointed us all.
Somewhere far on the other side of the pond, a day is dawning. If I could, I would go driving from Thousand Oaks to Salinas. Stop by for lunch at San Luis Obispo.
Of Men and Mice
Today the Man was angry,
His troops deserted him in the battle
And walked away
I was the one who had
To lend him an ear,
And a free cup of espresso.
He had the sad visage that recounted tales
But I had the evidence of your innocence
Why did his winter rob your autumn
And his autumn your youth?
A penny fell from my hands
On to the ground and
Shattered against my expectations
Melted, congealed
And became a mirror.
I held it up against my face,
And saw The Man looking at me from the mirror.
He had sad eyes and a stubble
Like a disappointing spring
After a forgettable winter.
Like an oft-used shoe,
His face was lined and weathered.
I took the mirror away in shock
Almost like a reflex reaction,
And thought of your innocence
And the slight tear in your panty hose.
