Writing with a Dog Under my Feet

Old post, here reposted, written in Iowa City…

Planet of the Blind

“The sub-cartesian people will drive you nuts

But hooray for those who love their mutts…”

–Ogg of Ancient Schenectady

In the initial position I should admit to being depressed. I have always been depressed. I take medication for it. I work assiduously to overcome the declivities and swells of self-contempt and I ignore the little brother named exhaustion. Some mornings I climb a ladder and climb back down with nothing to show. On occasion I can scarcely leave my house.

The dog under my feet knows all this. She knows my dreams are tuned like the caffeinated mind of Stravinsky. She sees that I am dropping spoons for the music. She gives me good news: no news; nonsense; deferral; not giving a shit…

The best news is the dog’s entire disposition. She accepts you. Doesn’t care that you are merely a botched hominid.

Outside the window in a corn field…

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