Where Have I been?

Who knows.

I will say this. 10,000 people (who are they? who are you? how do you find me? and then, how do I find you?) have come to visit, have written me. I haven’t posted their notes, although I’ve read many of them, but find what they say what you say so mysterious. I will try this again. I really will. I hope.

 

We’ll see what happens tomorrow.

I’VE BEEN AWAY FOR A WHILE

 

IT WAS NOT A PLACE FULL OF CAPITAL LETTERS. OR CAPITOL LETTERS EITHER.

 

I WISH I KNEW WHERE I GO AND WHERE I WENT. STILL AFTER ALL THIS TIME

 

WHERE I AM AND WHERE I GO REMAINS MYSTERIOUS. BUT

 

AND THERE IS ALWAYS AT LEAST UNTIL NOW A BUT

 

BUT I AM STILL, WITH WORDS IN MY HANDS AND WORDS IN MY HEART, STILL HERE.

 

TRYING OUT THOSE WORDS. ONE BY ONE BY ONE.

A while

It’s been a while. Where I went can’t be easily explained. The simple explanation is Sarasota but that’s not the real story. Of course it is possible to write everything and anything from Sarasota. But I didn’t.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you why.

Jeanette Winterson is an amazing writer

Here’s what she says about stories:
What do stories tell us? That this life is a journey through a dark wood. That the soul is always in peril. That those who love should never count the cost. That duty and passion tear the heart in half. That beauty is as good a reason as any. That understanding is all. That miracles happen. That there are heroes. That even a hero like Siegfried, who can row against the current of the RHine, is destroyed by his own vanity and forgetfulness. That wisdom is pain but pain is not wisdom. That the buried treasure is really there. That few things are worth the burden of possession. That no one can steal what no one can possess. That there is always a second chance. That there is love.

WHY I don’t Write, or Some Artificial Reasons

Anything is a good excuse.
There is always laundry (although
I rarely go to the basement to do it)
and then there is the problem
of words. Where are they?
What about depositing the check
that’s been sitting on my desk for a week?
I should really pick up
some bottled water. I haven’t talked
to my friend Sue in months. Going to
yoga class is a good idea. I feel
a little stiff. The library books
are nearly due. We don’t have
what we need for dinner. And
maybe I’m not a real writer anyway.
Then what?

Some of What I Love in New York

A woman named Julie told us about a free school to teach progressive economics, started 100 years ago by a man named Henry George, an enemy of Karl Marx, who wanted to eliminate poverty. Julie goes to the free school on Wednesday nights. She loves it. I’d like to go too. Does this qualify as a LEGITIMATE POST? It’s not a poem. It’s not a constructive or helpful thought. Even so.

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