reading inward
02/15/2006 07:11 p.m.
I read dream at the foot of my journal page and want to cry want to remember when they felt closer more attainable rather than trying to discern my dreams I am trying to figure out when this matted hairball of possibilities became my life when I evolved into this who I am growing against my sanity faster than I can control 'til now and I list my issues like groceries to take to Elisa but I can't put her on the list again irony suffocates me in day in sleep inside walls no one sees but me so I write as the top of the page encourages in large looming letters I do it to release the images the muse the insanity that pushes pen to paper and as my fingers co-conspire against me I wonder where they will lead me what will spill if I'll recognize the images my words create but it must be freed the knot creation can build within this cancerous ink that drives and kills me with each falling letter how addicted I am to creation to expression to image to poetics living beyond monotony where truth embodies the double edged sword my life is turning at the point of how easy it seems to fall but easy street is not in my neighborhood doesn't run through Brooklyn but I'd settle for a little shut eye and an ink filled palette with an extended literature IV to feed me from Latin linguistics to Post Modernism instead of food instead of TV instead of being sucked into the vortex of daily life and then perhaps my internal floodgates will runneth over my fingers will have to swim to catch up with my mind which is alternately racing the 24/7 clock of NYC culture which is binding me with unwritten reels of paper and unwritten words floating into haunting dreams of whenever you find the time and that land has never felt so far away
I am listening to Andre Previn - The Subterraneans (1960)