Nietzsche: “All truth is simple…”
Is that not doubly a lie?
Not if you can get away with it.
(As if “all truth” is what? A glass of water?)
Can you imagine serving on a submarine with Friedrich?
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An old shell am I, O Lady of Zephyrium…
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When winter comes from the radio you know tragedy.
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In this notebook, which is its own crude comic, we laugh as Batman steps on a fat frozen turd. Robin says: “Oh, that’s going to take some scrubbing!”
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OK. Meanwhile:
I want the owl’s peace…
Hunger over for the day
Gibbous moon
Sleep…but not yet…
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Ding Dong.
“Who’s there?”
“The Baba Yaba!”
“What do you want?”
“I’m here to collect your breeze of inspiration.”
(Sound of chicken legs….)
Thoughts one has during a respiratory pandemic.
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Poem discarded:
Walking Around
Did I know this? Blind strolling
Through Houston passing
An open window (who knew
Windows can be open
In the Texas summer?)
And a piano and someone
Playing it
And Franz Liszt the composer.
I have to ask
Did I know?
Lyric in the inhospitable.
“Tre sonetti di Petrarca”
Broadens
From a house
I cannot see.
And Liszt with his cataracts
His dropsy, a failing heart
Asthma, insomnia
Places his performer’s hands
On my shoulders.
Planet of the Blind 