Intro

O full-orb'd moon, did but thy rays

Their last upon mine anguish gaze!

Beside this desk, at dead of night,

Oft have I watched to hail thy light:

Then, pensive friend! o'er book and scroll,

With soothing power, thy radiance stole!

In thy dear light, ah, might I climb,

Freely, some mountain height sublime,

Round mountain caves with spirits ride,

In thy mild haze o'er meadows glide,

And, purged from knowledge-fumes, renew

My spirit, in thy healing dew!

Goethe: Faust I.

Sunday, July 7, 2002

I could grow garlic and even a few bales of cotton.

I was laying in bed, thinking about what I should do and fairly certain that would be to go to sleep. I ate more pasta than I actually had an appetite for. Thinking about how impossible it is to sleep in the city, and that I could grow garlic and even a few bales of cotton.

The truth is that I should have stayed in bed. My right hand is fully operational again. Been for a while. Heckling poets gets boring quickly. Should have made some phone calls. Did not. Wondering why it is that I always get ripped off in public transit systems. Not by the passengers, by the payment control systems.

What are we going to do on this planet? I don't think I am going to be able to get off of it. Who wants what? Why. Is it possible? How can the impossible be made more possible.
Published by G. Etranger at 12:00 AM

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