I still haven't learned to make make conversation or literature out of the minutiae of the confines of my room or my tight little circle of routine and ritual. For a few days this month Poetry Day commanded my attention because the WUTT has fallen on hard times and was allowing it to slip this year... so I got Metropolitan Booksellers to organize a hastily arranged something. I guess the manager didn't see how he could have arranged it to get some good publicity out of it . I believe his eyes are now open.
Other than that the pivate persona is of a little old man (Gerontion) and his mate... taking more than 24 hours to do a day of nothing. It's so exhausting to achieve this from forced and habitual rising around 6 to listening to the morning local talk show while browsing for email which could be disheartening when my friends contemplate their navels too much and forget to remember me... then a small breakfast which my wife feels sh e must get up to make for me - hopsbread sandwich and tea without milk or sugar, which I have enlivened by buying several varieties of tea for different mornings, arguing about the news with me never being able to abide her views, then my going to buy newspapers, sometimes 3 or 4 which I could ill afford and which take me well into the afternoon to read... interrupted of course by checking for email, ICQ, or Peoplelink, or answering mail, or promising to write in my dream journal after having long forgotten the dream and being unable to decipher it to see whether it was a healing, a prophetic dream, guidance, a karmic resolution, an initiation, or a spiritual adventure; things like making a doctor's or dentists appointment are put on the back burner always until tomorrow, and the habitual trek to the post office, or drive rather, to check the box for junk mail , utility and credit card bills and pension cheques at month end, sometimes to relieve my wife's persistent and c ontinuous work and lamentation, by washing the dishes, vacuuming some rooms cutting the lawn or clearing the grating at the corner after the neighbouhood's rubbish piles up especially after rain... culminating in an evening where I usually try to chat and hang around with wife between 4 and 8 pm, after which we retire to our own tvs.. I usually to watch something mindless, basic and action filled, she to something equally vacuous of her taste... before we know it the spirit of night attacks our eyelids and tired bodies and we can barely turn off the ever present remote controls to drift on a sea of darkness sampling the forever sleep till the dawn remarkably tickles our eyelids so we can start the cycle again.
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