Every day that I don’t write, it’s like I am going through the motions, the machinations…. like just now, had to stop the first line of this rare post to lead the blind in setting up a Wii fencing game.

Not that I mind the motions, but it’s like floating away, no depth, no transport to another place, no retention.

Now there is screaming and crying, and at night the screen is too bright in the dining room/bedroom/office/shared life we’re leading since renovation vacation began months and eons ago.

So this morning’s attempt inspired by a dream of John Malkovich.  He was young with long hair and not HIM yet. We danced and hung out 70s style (imagined by me) at a mutual friend’s rodent infested farm.  Then I left the next day to travel and write poetry about the kindred spirit I met.

Those of us who missed the counterculture generation by a decade wonder if we would have been a hippie, but who knows really.  My mother calls me the flower child, but it’s in reference to my own generation, which although had much better music, was by far more conformist than the 70s kids.   Including me.  I never even thought to question the racial separation that existed all around me until years after college.

that’s all the time we have for now, virtual reality for les kids beckons and the contractor has arrived.  posting anyway without editing.

it’s a new day

 

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