Monday, August 14, 2006

transcription of recent events

7.22.2006 8a.m. (park in Cambridge, MA)

It is quite foggy out right now, I feel a touch of rain on my shoulder. I have no plans today apart from reading and writing. There are three dogs racing about across the park-- two big ones and little one. It sounds like they are having fun. Things are generally quiet now. I have to decide whether to go apartment hunting or to stay at the same place for another year. I know M-- is busy apartment hunting and adjusting to life in Boston. It's been a week since we returned from Sweden and Denmark. A few changes have been made since that time. We are still living apart-until further notice. Time is needed to focus on our own lives, to improve ourselves, to snap out of this inertia--at least that's what I have to do-definitively. A moment: I feel as though I am sitting in a very gray cloud. It is not quite rain, though it feels like it might pick up at any moment. My back is slightly wet-It is nearly time to put my jacket on. Not a bad day for cycling, I gather-that is apart from the damp roads. Heavy thunderstorms pass through here-today and tomorrow. I don't particularly relish staying at home. Perhaps I'll see a film or stay in doors somewhere. Lots of little birds are about as well. I may pause to put my coat on-maybe this will turn to actual rain. There are so may things besides all this racing through my mind. However, I think it is best to start with the immediate present. Seems a little odd perhaps to wake up early, get an ice coffee, then walk to the park for a little observation. I need to sit at a desk someplace where there are few distractions. Everything has the echo of finality or the desperate concerns of the present. A year ago around this time I was desperately falling in love. I'd just returned home from Montreal and had the rest of the summer to play with. Now, now I'm not so sure of what I'm left with.

8.12.2006 7:30pm (Harvard Square, Cambridge, MA)
You're going to crash hard if you continue to do this. These seemingly endless circles, recollections of monochrome, tie a noose around your precious lifeline. Still, nothing is happening. People are away, the tourists don't even dominate this space. I feel decades old echoes pierce my eardrums with the bitter consequences of time spent passing. No one to watch over me now. Absolute freedom always comes at a price. A walk, I cannot even make that suggestion. It is far too much. Staccato prose without dignity = primitive humiliation. I am drawn to other moments by the hotel. By this time the winds roll in. I catch a slight cold and anticipate change. Give me it! This great disparity erodes my insides, I am a shell; a husk clamoring for a remade identity. If you don't remake yourself-- others will do it for you. Poverty of the soul is ubiquitous.

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