I said and meant, “My circles small.”

And then I think, my circle is not that at all. It’s not as large when I was small, when i didn’t have as far to fall.

I traveled far to see and such. I have this girl, we stay in touch. She calls me Dad, the love is much.

I think sometimes about the past. The plans we made that didn’t last. The dreams were still so true and fast.

It’s strange how things have changed and stayed. I remember how your body swayed. I dance sometimes to the music played.

She’s sitting at the platform waiting on the train; she checks her watch and feels hope fade, that her efforts are in vain.

The urban dwellers are all huddled under snowflakes big as pucks. “Drugs are not the answer.”said the addict. “This weather kinda sucks.”

They’re living and they suffer and I am moving on. My train has picked me up at last and in my memory they are gone.

The answer is the end.

The question or suggestion is the art.

The artist is the bridge.

She’s practiced the look in the mirror for so long that it is no longer necessary and is just now the poster expression that she greets me with.

I had been sick for a week when she dropped by and I decided to try out my blind man routine as I greeted them at my door… patting the air “Are you there? Are you there Sweetheart?”

The bitch face was replaced with a look of abject horror that seemed to say in the moment, ‘If my cash cow is blind how will he work in order to support me?’

I laughed and returned to my life of service.

I am reading James Joyce and his fabulous stream of conciousness and I am reading Marshall Mcluhan and Mcluhan was a fan of Joyce which is interesting in that Mcluhan is writing about awareness and conciousness and James is demonstrating in writing how we think and in efforts to be a writer and I am thinking it would almost be unconcious to be aware of these 2 and not beg, borrow, steal here. No??

The diehard is holding a phony fort with the force of a frightened sycophant.

Time to let go… Face your fears. Yes it is that time. The World awaits YOU.

It’s the boundaries I seek… where change has maximum abrasion. I have that patience now that can be a wise substitute for courage which is at least one reason why explorers ought to be old men.

Another day, sundown… Another night sundown. Orange to black, sundown. Fades to midnight blue. There’s nothing I can’t do.

Here comes the night and I don’t know why, I hear your voice and I lose my way. Where are you now? Can I touch you somehow? You’re somewhere near sleep, where images fade… and here comes the sun. Another night is down. Here comes the sun and here I go again.

Saw the man he was shot down. Eyes rolled white, he was shot down. Breathed goodbye, that sound. Fades to midnight blue. There’s nothing I can do.

And here comes the night and I don’t know why I hear your voice and I lose my way. Where are you now? Can I touch you somehow? You’re somewhere near sleep, where images fade. And here comes the sun, another night is done. Orange to black, sundown. Fades to midnight blue. There’s nothing I can do.

Peggy told me that she’s bored and thought that there’s nothing worse than boredom… when suddenly I realized that the one advantage of being tethered to a narcissist is you are seldom bored.

You never know what’s coming down the road however you can be certain that drama will ensue.

Now I didn’t advise Peggy to have a child with a narcissist… I was just trying to point out that boredom might not be getting a worse reputation than it deserves.

I don’t know why my baby loves clowns Whose painted on tears never fall down. I don’t know what she sees in their eyes. Perhaps the line tween horror/surprise.

I don’t know why my baby can’t sing… Why Carnival music isn’t her thing. It fills my head when I’m at the fair. Searching for clues in clowns everywhere.

I don’t know why she screams at night… I hope it’s not why she holds me so tight Cause I’m the type I’m weak for love. Carnival music I rise above.

Is it the pain or is it the fear? For some Carnival crime from yesteryears? Maybe it’s you, maybe I’ll never know. Maybe it’s me, baby let go.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the kings horses and all the kings men, tried and they tried, but she fell down again.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall… She went to her shrink, ended up at the mall. Humpty Dumpty wanted it all.