James Madison Park
Pretty brown. Ducks are quacking upside down. Looks like a dead fish under the clear water, partly nosed into the sand.
Looks like squashed little frog on concrete - turns out to be a chunk of bark.
Maybe the fish is just a rock.
It all looks like things dead.
My air is thick
At least I'm writing again - the ever-faithful spiggot for my hot fluids. But re-living the old diaries from 26 years ago is salting the old wounds - amazing, that they are still there. Amazing, that I don't seem to have learned anything, but that my impotence will remain as the prime source of my debilitation. So all I have left, is my writing. No one will ever read it. If someone ever is curious enuf, he sure will become bored in a hurry (or disgusted, or ...)
Still, the delusions. That I will put it all down someday, + it will have purged me, purified me.
So I come here to 'sketch', + I con't see anything - I can't see anything I'm numb except to things I see dead but were never living - even dead things die, for me.
The lake has no action today. Yesterday's wind are gone - to where? who's getting it now?
Girls girls, I see a girl in a white t-shirt + tight blue jeans rollerskating across the causeway, down into Law Park, her hips rolling as she swings her legs smoothly. I see breasts, breasts, breasts, always breasts + always covered + what a sight it would be, to see all those breasts out in the sun. And ass - round round rumps below flaring feminine hips, under tight jeans, rolling on down the walk.
I feel put off just as much as ever. Beginning to feel trapped just as much as ever.
Broke my own rules, Made my own chains.
- Lone Coyote Calls