Saturday, June 12, 2010

Still Summeresque, Sipping Chardonnay

The Chardonnay helps, but doesn’t heal. As this author’s age elevates, his patience dissipates. Crickets deliver delicious harmonies, urging me to prance with page like a chorus’ melodic advance onstage. Will I miss the adjunct cage, no. Students, some. Elyse, Katie, Khaled, Tony--the exceptions, the mentally alive. Literary in me, eternally, intrinsically. Cars, interrupting crickets. How rude. Peace in this office. Thinking of book titles, be it a chap or novel, collection, what have.
These sessions of randomness centralize, epitomize upon what I situate, deliberate. Another sip of the Boekenoogen Chard, peace. Thank Ms. Alice for sharing. I speak of nothing, or dreams. Watching an interview with Mr. Shakur. Still moved by his immovability, assertiveness. Frustrated with the manner in which he was so soullessly dismissed. Those scrutinies, most, from nonartists...

(Saturday 6/12/2010)

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