and really it’s all a mind fuck. your art your music your social network that book you read to avoid people what soothes you to bed at night what isolates you to connect you–it’s a mind fuck. and can any hell be anymore imaginable and real than now? you look and I listen so don’t put yourself in every situation–it ain’t worth it it’s boring actually watching your seeds grow–it’s like watching the pot boil when you’re wishing for poinsettias… and it’s the beauty and the mistake when you know you’re fucked because am I awake or am I still dreaming for I’ve shared this and I’ve shared that those trips down memory lane love unrequited all that says yes all that says no so i remember after texas back in los angeles i was watching “cool hand luke” with this girl with red hair and she had a sucker in her mouth. maybe it was the part with lucille but i reached over pulled the sucker out of her mouth and leaned in for a kiss… i won’t forget how she just smiled and said no and I tried to tell her this but she still doesn’t get it she doesn’t know time yet how I tell her when I will see her next how there are week days and there are week ends and that Christmas comes but once a year and I tried to tell her how time is nonlinear it’s cyclical how yet it arcs about the radius but she’s merely eight her sister but five so I will listen to her arguments and understand there used to be a record store uptown near tulane campus can’t remember where but i do remember i had never heard of leonard cohen and i found this album and bought it because the first song had the same name as a girl i had an unrequited love affair with my first two years of college… i did take her to the air force ball my sophomore year and when she said “i’m the brown eyed girl” when the song came on as we were dancing i didn’t say yes


Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river You can hear the boats go by You can spend the night beside her And you know that she’s half crazy…

but that’s why you wanna be there because I can be crude and call it a mind fuck or I can say I touched your perfect body with my mind, or as the man Tolstoy put it:

If a man, without exercising effort and without altering his standpoint on reading, hearing, or seeing another man’s work, experiences a mental condition which unites him with that man and with other people who also partake of that work of art, then the object evoking that condition is a work of art. And however poetical, realistic, effectful, or interesting a work may be, it is not a work of art if it does not evoke that feeling (quite distinct from all other feelings) of joy and of spiritual union with another (the author) and with others (those who are also infected by it).


The chief peculiarity of this feeling is that the receiver of a true artistic impression is so united to the artist that he feels as if the work were his own and not someone else’s — as if what it expresses were just what he had long been wishing to express. A real work of art destroys, in the consciousness of the receiver, the separation between himself and the artist — not that alone, but also between himself and all whose minds receive this work of art. In this freeing of our personality from its separation and isolation, in this uniting of it with others, lies the chief characteristic and the great attractive force of art…

and what am I really doing here am I connecting you with it am I here and you’re there or is there a moment maybe when your flicking through the news feed of your world and you say huh maybe this connects to this and that connects to that and maybe this was said because of that and I ask you is that linear what should I tell my daughters about time about that dream’s parade of lovers from the other times and places how now no it doesn’t matter now no matter who because the best example of this is like having dinner with a schmuck (you may say that I’m a dreamer but I’m not) and realizing the idiot who entertains you over whobeast that fool on the hill–well, he might just be getting a free meal

so the uncle puts it in real time not that the nephew is listening this has been (it has always been) and will become something that will be read and reread for its different meanings so if you happened to look today if you happened to find his nephew’s timeline (he’s home now–a soldier’s home–and I’ll see him on Friday) you might happen to read:

on a personal note, i’m scheduled for another hemorrhoid band ligation procedure tomorrow at 9 am at the VA… have to work tomorrow evening and Christmas too. could i should i spin dirty limericks about the whole holiday affair? i’m open to suggestions