Category Archives: Nonfiction

It’s been warmer this week, and no new snow.

It’s been warmer this week, and no new snow. The accumulated snow has largely disappeared, excepting the huge piles of snow at edges of streets and parking lots. Temperatures have been in the 30s and 40s — no 50-degree heat waves, but no 0s like a week before or so (yeah, Gordyville Jan. 29 was in the single digits). It’s nice that the snow melted, making the streets safer for all humanity, and that it hasn’t been replaced, but what we’ve been left with is brownness — brown everywhere on the open prairie. It’s supposed to be in the upper 30s and 40s for the next several days, and yeah, that’s more welcome than the zeros. It’s sort of a no-man’s land. You can’t expect spring in the first week of February. It’s not bad out, but it’s not exactly pleasant either, but it’s about the best one can expect for the first week in February, so I trudge on with my job. Weather like this leaves not a whole lot left to look forward to.

[From journal of Thurs., 6 Feb. 1997, Journal 16, page 205]

I’m listening to the Super Bowl on the radio

I’m listening to the Super Bowl on the radio — not a bad way to see it — the action more exciting when described, “word pictures,” rather than regular pictures. But radio solves a dilemma. I was considering watching the game on TV, the most-watched program all year, which also therefore is the biggest advertising event of the year. I didn’t want to be part of that mass-target audience. On the other hand, those are the best ads of the year — still, they’re ads.

[From journal of Sunday, 26 Jan. 1997, Journal 16, page 201]

Something almost alchemical there is: September notes

Double-crowned carrot grown in my garden. Smiling Sam dog behind. He was probably waiting for me to give him the carrot to crunch. 9 Sept.

‡  Paul McCartney & Wings songs — Wings songs feel good — it’s a cozy sound, or image, or both (sound-image?). Wings songs don’t feel deep, usually, but there’s something soothing, comforting there (“Uncle Albert,” I’m hearing now, the beginning slow part). And maybe part of what I mean is that I could dwell within Wings (or any other artists whose mood I like) songs rather than listing to news — or other artists I don’t like. … My random journal bits posted to blog have a cool mood, too — not quite the same feeling as Wings (I’m listening to “Let ‘Em In” now) but there’s something I like about the mood/feeling/mindset my pieces seem to have. My journals as bits of my mind packaged (in a good way), bits of experience. Perhaps my texts convey a mood that I don’t feel as I go through my days and that I don’t convey in person? [9 p.m.-ish] Something almost alchemical there is about how my words, my texts, seem not so special when I write them — but time lapsing (and seeing my words typed) makes them seem more interesting. Realizing at about 8:45 that I needed no more stories or songs or etc. tonight — so I’ll go to bed. [1 Sept. 2021]

‡  Fractional poems — 2/3rds of a poem — no cohesive whole! which is kinda saying it’s not a poem, if you believe cohesion is needed. [2 Sept. 2021]

‡  Humans can affect things — but only in the ways things can be affected. You can push a brick but you can’t make it cry. So a human pushing on a brick (or affecting the spin of an electron) isn’t so different from another thing in the environment doing that affect. [2 Sept.]

‡  “You know how that goes, ” I said to a teacher colleague, about how a class can fall behind — and, as a veteran teacher, she does know — so I don’t need to tell her. Say only new things! [33 August]

‡  Physical background is calming. Something about how the trees and sky are always there, no matter what’s going on with me, is calming — if I can let go of my stress ideas (like deadlines) for a bit. [2,5 Sept.]

‡  Most work is done for particulars. But media is made once for general audience. A dentist or doctor works on one patient at a time, construction guys work on one building, teachers work with a few students, cooks prepare this meal for particular people.

It’s media and showbiz people who aim not to amuse a particular few but a mass audience. (And makers of mass-market products are the same — but belts, cars, etc., these are practical, needed things, unlike media.) And maybe this is why media jobs are easy for newspaper companies (for example) to lay off.  [4,5 Sept.]

Lilacs blooming out of season. Ogle County. 4 Sept.

‡  Quick calculations as I washed my hands in bathroom and saw a couple light brownish spots on my face: how many days one is alive as one nears age 50. Just my commutes: 2/day times 180 days in a school year equals 360 commutes per year, for ten years equals 3,600, times 3 (for a teaching career of about 30 years) for 10,800 commuting trips in a career — and I can’t do more than 2/day. I can live only one day at a time (no parallel days, no getting 2 days of commutes done today).  [15 Sept.]

‡  I can’t argue with matter — such as the car pulling out ahead of me, slowing me down. Might as well accept it. (I wrote this, and then a couple minutes later, I drove around a car slowed down to turn right into a restaurant’s lot.) [15 Sept.]

‡  It is wonderful, when I stop and think about it, that I feel basically good and whole in my body and especially in my consciousness, in my mind, most days. I often feel good enough that I can forget about doing self-diagnostics (sorta) and actually go look for tasks to do or ideas to consider. I feel good enough at a foundational level to even want to (sometimes) experience problems — for the thrill, the excitement, the challenge — that’s (clearly) remarkable — that when I feel good (so good that I can forget about myself as a mind and as an organism and even as a being), I almost wish I’d feel worse! I can forget about my body and mind for a while (though eventually I’ll be reminded of body when I get hungry or have to pee) and think only (consciously, at least) about the topic or question on my mind. M, because of her illness, has less of this ability (or less of a chance) to forget herself. [16 Sept.]

‡  Maybe the irritations I feel in my 40s (and 30s, etc.) are a kind of practice for tolerating irritations when I’m older and can do less to change irritations. [17 Sept.]

‡  I find my mind in a foul mood today. I don’t think I get in foul moods like this over summer break. And, of course, I know this mood isn’t meaningful — I’d like to blame other things for this mood, I can’t — and I hope I’ll feel better in the next couple hours. [20 Sept. a.m.]

3:44 p.m. I didn’t know how to feel better — but now that I’m out of school, away from other people, I don’t have to feel better — I can sit with my ill-mood. How to describe it? Not wanting to do things, not wanting anything but to feel better … it’s weird to not feel joy in the things I usually feel joy. [20 Sept.]

‡  On earth, with trees and birds, no, I don’t matter. But, I have a mind, so I do matter! [21 Sept.]

Clouds in a seeming center-radial arrangement. Looking east, north of Rochelle, Ill. 22 Sept., about 7:45 a.m.

Close-up view of some of what looked like brushed-on clouds radiating from a central point. 22 Sept., looking east on Bethel Road, about 7:40 a.m.

‡  When I’m feeling depressed, my identity doesn’t seem to cheer me up — it seems too static, to obvious, too merely there, to be meaningful. [22 Sept.]

‡  Don’t sell — just give — my writings. There’s something a little desperate in Jack Kerouac writing and selling things just for the money. [23 Sept.]

‡  I feel today like I’d like to think about only what’s in front of me to do right now (and not think about later, even a couple hours from now. Existence is what’s now, even as I imagine earlier and later. I’d like to be a character in Father Brown, if those characters realized that they could appreciate things as they were/are. [23 Sept.]

‡  I just remembered that Charlie Lindy isn’t around — he’s not in the world — to go eat fish at Newman Hall. That memory can’t be existing now. [23 Sept.]

‡  Big Accomplishers — Chris Columbus, Jeff Bezos — all the petty stuff they do everyday that gets elided from their biographies — and from how they conceive of themselves, too, maybe? [23 Sept.]

‡  Once I’ve seen elderly incapacity, how can I not think of it coming for me (maybe)? My colleagues don’t seem to see this — though, no doubt, some do. Once you’re diminished (by accident or stroke or dementia), your world, your realm, physically and mentally, shrinks. And I can admit, I fear this some. [23 Sept.]

‡  Living with less media is one way of living a bit more like living in an image (in a good way). The things I hear in news make me less likely to have my attention on my surroundings, on my being alive. [24 Sept.]

‡  Think about the ever-present my material body lives in — versus my time-jumping mind. [24 Sept.]

‡  At some level, we are, or ought to be, aware that our bodies die when they will, without any meaning, without our lives having really meant any meaning. Bodies don’t mean. Only ideas mean. [24 Sept.]

‡  Recognizing that I’m a passenger in my body. I am my body, sorta, but my mind exists only as well as (or worse than) the body does. This is not to endorse dualism, but it’s weird that I often feel “I” am distinct from my body, that “I” applies only to my thoughts and feelings and awareness. [27 Sept.]

‡  My dog walk yesterday as entertainment — no money needed! Radio ads, local NPR fundraising — these are paying for the entertainment via radio. Pop songs are the kind of things that one has to pay for (or not, of course) — but why would I pay for pop songs? … I don’t mean this as self-righteous or preachy. I just hadn’t thought so explicitly before about how singers who make albums want to sell their sounds — that getting rich is part of the dream of fame — but it doesn’t need to be. … Maybe musicians do want the affirmation that wealth brings. But I pictured today as I drove … Prince (or, well, any other pop musician) in a studio, hoping to get people to buy their sounds. Of course, maybe artists in studio don’t think about how listeners will hear their music — but how could they not, really? They’re making music to sell! I’m just thinking more bluntly about people who make art to sell. And I’m feeling confidently free of that impulse. I’m glad I have ideas and texts to share — and I know a text doesn’t have to sell. … There’s a joyous freedom in my writing and blogging and it feels wonderful — wonderfully pointing out a system different from the one that exists now. … There’s a spiritual aspect to this — that I’m focused on, I’m seeking, well, what’s real and how to live!  [27 Sept.]

‡  Money’s magical — it can be turned into food, buildings — it’s abstract and it only works on people (not on dogs, say). The more money you have, the more you can cause to happen (though still there are things beyond your control). I feel like being less ambitious, letting go of control, being passive — like an object is. [28 Sept.]

‡  I’m in a different mind when I’m working? This might be why it’s hard to imagine and describe one mind (work mind, say) when I’m in leisure mind. [28 Sept., 3 Oct.]

‡  “Now — well, it was now, when I wrote ‘now’.” Not a quote, but a bit of imagined dialogue about how the current moment escapes word-labeling (sorta). [29 Sept.]

‡  My body is an — is the — object I gotta move over 24 miles of roads each day to get to work — over each foot, each inch, of 24 miles. [29 Sept.]

‡  I’ve never before had a brain (and/or mind?) with this much experience! [30 Sept. 2021]

As M was looking at bank records

As M was looking at bank records, she found a debit charge for $100 on 23 June that she couldn’t interpret. I went to the Chronicle [these journals] (like the Anglo Saxon Chronicle — I read about it over the weekend — this annual listing of events — this is how we measure time, especially if your calendars are a little shaky — how they’d (scribes would, I guess) add big events — a king’s marriage, battles, etc. — to these Chronicle books).

And I read yesterday about Yiddish language — and English — and that Yiddish is a Germanic Language written with Hebrew letters — guess I wasn’t aware of that, exactly. There wasn’t a lot to read online over the weekend — Wikipedia diving’s always an option. I tried to nap again in 2 p.m. hour but after a few minutes, I felt I should get up and grade, so I did. Dog had some spells on the back deck. He came in and smelled good — both this doggy smell (a “good dog spell,” M quoted B___ as saying of Sam) and the fresh smell of the winter outdoors.

[From journal of Tues., 16 Feb. 2016, Journal 222, page 47-8]

I’m interested in finding an approach (no doubt there can be many) to publishing journals

And when I looked at my old journal this morn, I read about having spent a Sunday (I think) watching History of Broadway musicals — and that’s fine — not all that worth publishing, though, which has gotta be OK, too, because you have written many things in the journals that you wouldn’t want to publish. I’m interested in finding an approach (no doubt there can be many) to publishing journals, the way I feel I found a way by (a form in) which to publish pocket pages ideas and quotes. And so, though I didn’t feel good last night, I considered reading old journal entries to see if there’s a way. I mean, I have faith that I will find a way. I didn’t know ahead of time that I could do most of what I’ve done. …

And so, yeah — I don’t know what it’d look like, quite. Ah, well. I mean, I’m probably too tired to figure it out today. Well, no, I’m not trying to “figure it out” — but rather, I’d like to just offer some broad strokes. I do like the idea I had a week ago or so that

[Warmed up soup for dinner. Had cheese and crackers but almost didn’t need it. It’s nice not being as hungry as when well. That’s a nice thing about being sick.]

… journals are a holistic thing, where I combine various aspects of my life, whereas pocket pages entries are more distinct one to the next — whereas journals are more knitted together — sometimes. But sometimes there are juxtaposes, too. Do I cut out samples? See, I’m not sure. Those journal entries may not be able to support themselves, like each pocket page entry can (sorta).

[From journal of Tues., 19 Jan. 2016, Journal 220, page 9-10]

This is why I have had so many awkward interactions, especially with women

6:00 (A.M., phone time) So, yeah — here I am. I’d thought I could lead off by saying that I realized yesterday that I’m probably “on the spectrum,” autism-wise. I mean, I do feel I can read people’s moods most of the time — people aren’t that opaque to me. On other hand, maybe I’m just German (I watched a couple more German Girl in America videos last night — she said Germans tend not to do small talk).

But I saw yesterday, in a Lithub essay suggesting Thoreau was on spectrum, was not “neurotypical,” that people on spectrum hate to lie, or are very honest. Here and I thought that was an admirable trait! Ah, well. At least I do feel I’ve more-or-less outgrown the sense that I need to try to make friends with colleagues or get them to appreciate my ideas. Ah well. So, but the nice thing I felt yesterday — I laughed about this, I laughed as I read this line — I was alone in my room over lunch — is, OK, so, maybe this is why I just don’t quite get the social scene (M said she too is not neurotypical.. She said last night that she never understood how people — regular people — were satisfied with their regular-people lives — volleyball, for example … these people M knew through church, they played volleyball and had dull-seeming lives. M said she didn’t know how these lives were satisfying. M did say that she liked being on college campuses, around other atypicals.)

So, yeah, I can start to accept this about me. This is why I have had so many awkward interactions, especially with women. But it’s not like I didn’t realize these interactions were awkward!

[From journal of Thurs., 26 Aug. 2021, Journal 346, page 117-8]

Got a C on last quiz … things looking up in Calc.

9-30-1992: Stayed up Tuesday night to see Gramps’s show. … Went to NeXT lab and typed paper. Did revision ’til late tonight. Got back test and quiz. Got a C on last quiz, and 73/100 on test 1. Things looking up in Calc. Took SS120 test — think I did OK. Worked in lab at night and did revisions ’til midnight.

Got back CS211 quiz — 40/40!

Got letter from Kim, wrote back.

10-1-1992: Rabbit, rabbit, etc. Typed Resp. #3 revisions during SS120 — we got out because of test previous night. Watched Kilbourne [sp?] movie in HU — got out early — no teacher. Pep Band. Calc. Wrote to Phoebe & Papa. [Dorm roommate] Gerrad & I went to Jay’s after he quit McD’s. They weren’t home so we drove around. Went back later, then to Jim’s Foodmart. Called mom.

10-2-1992: Did laundry a.m.: 7 washer loads, 5 dryer loads. Only class was CS211, ’cause we took Calc off. Gerrad & I went up to Copper Harbor today. Beautiful — glittering golds, vibrant blood reds. Went to top of Brockway. Took whole roll of 36 exposures.

Ate at McD’s — I bought. Played B-ball with Derik. Went back to house. Watched TV. Went to BK w/ Gramps & Fish. Saw “Basic Instinct” — crowded theater, disappointing movie. 3 sex scenes, Sharon Stone’s breasts, and center-less sex scenes (kissing –> smoking). Art-direction: bright, washed-out scenes contrasted to dark scenes. Close-ups, unattractive, etc. … Got to bed around 1:30.

Sat., 10-3-1992: Got up late — 10 or so. Pep Band — Parade of nations 3 p.m. Interesting marching along sidewalks, no formation, running around the band (“Take the front,” “Take the back”). Met Mom & Dad around 5. We went up to Douglass Houghton Falls and over to McLain State Park. I drove. Then we unloaded and went to Hardee’s for dinner. Heard a Yooper in Hardee’s. Hardee’s is nice — it hasn’t been destroyed like BK & McDonald’s (by college students). Watched TV with Mom & Dad at Holiday Motel. Got back around 11 p.m.

Sun., 10-4-1992: Up early — 7:30. Breakfast at 8. Mom & Dad brought all kinds of stuff — box full of chips & crackers, 3 trays of cookies, disks[?], mail, mags, bum clothes, flannel shirts,. They took home trombone & tackle box, etc. Left at 9:30. Their leaving was harder on me than before. I bought paper, then tried to write a letter — I was sad and a little homesick. I cried. Intellectually I know that there’s nothing really for me at home. I’d just like to see the family. There isn’t much to do at home, but I just feel trapped here — like I couldn’t go home (or anywhere) even if I wanted to. I prepared the letter to send, but I don’t think I will. It’ll depress mom too much.

Did a little homework — read CS. Went over to Jay’s. We played B-ball with Griz[?], Gerrad, Jay, Derick and I. Kim called — talked for 1 hour. Her roommate Trish sounds neat (but, really, on the phone …)

Well, enough for the writing exercise.

Up ’til 1:30.

[From Journal 3, pages 271-272]

As I walk past the houses where I know the residents

As I walk past the houses where I know the residents — that is, anytime I’m outside my house in my neighborhood — I’m aware that we don’t get along. That [one neighbor] thinks our place is eyesore, that [another neighbor] is obnoxious, and [a third neighbor] is loud. Most of the others I don’t have relationships with. It’s only when I’m in the house that I can forget about these neighbors. Ah, well. Some we like, sure, but most we’re neutral-to-sour on. Ah, well.

And, yeah, I also had thought about experience as a noun —

But let me finish earlier point: had I lived in a communal setting, I might have had to learn to get along better. Maybe it was living in my own house that allowed me to get weird, get baroque in my personality, and now I need that alone-time — such that if my house ever did get destroyed and we needed to live at a place for a few weeks or months, I couldn’t really live with anybody else — I couldn’t move into a relative’s house, say.

[From journal of Sat., 18 Sept. 2021, Journal 347, page 26]

Cleave these completed poems! August 2021 notes

A bee’s under-milkweed respite from rare rainfall (we’re inches below normal this summer). 21 Aug.

† I could look in tree bark or other textures for quasi-letter shapes, words, sentences — yes, it’s interpretive, but kind of a cool random-writing/interpretive idea, not so different from Poetry Bingo [an activity in my creative writing class] or from that stone that was interpreted as having runes but it was decided they were glaciation marks — a human’s judgment. [4 Aug. 2021]

Blueberries in cereal milk. 2 Aug.

‡ Story, telling stories: One, a story describes distant actions. To tell a story on paper and to read a story someone else wrote, both writer and reader are distant from the experiences described in the story. Two, how one tells the story, constructs it from one’s perspective (but carefully, being fair to others there who may hear it). I’m more aware than ever … that a story is an argument from one that one’s experience and one’s reaction to it are justified — “I was justified in getting mad because” of the story I tell. [6 Aug.]

Resurrection lily up close. 10 Aug.

† “Have you heard the story about” X event, we say, or we say, “have you heard about” X event. It’s interesting that we refer to stories about events rather than events themselves. But, of course, if I’m not present at the event, I do know only the story (and not the event itself) and illustrative pics & videos. [10 Aug.]

“The bronze ink of underworld waterfalls” grabbed my attention when I found these last-used-years-ago transparencies in my classroom. I think my students and I had been writing a poem together here. 13 Aug.

† Arts reports in news programs give more attention to what’s already getting attention. [16 Aug.]

Ogle County life: crayfish on Weld Park soil. 15 Aug.

‡ My journal bits aren’t parables. But there is an implication of … of what, exactly? Of recording, writing? Of any moment being interesting? [18 Aug.]

Justice Cat recuperating at home after an illness. 7 Aug. 2021

† “Pull up your sock, Justice!” I keep telling my cat. His shaved band on his right front leg looks like he’s got a sock drooping down. [19 Aug.]

‡ Anything and everything people do for money is foolish (at some level) in the sense that it’s not authentically you. It’s a game of meeting others’ expectations. [20 Aug. 2021]

† Consistency in intellectual positions is a value, but there’s no need for consistency (it’s not a value or standard) in living a life! I can change my opinions, have contradicting or differing ideas on different days of my journals — and that’s OK! Maybe intellectual argument positions should be consistent, but a living person’s views don’t have to be! [20 Aug. ]

A prairie plant in my stepdad’s plantings. 20 Aug.

‡ There’s no need for me to get my writing into competition for publication, attention. I heard my local NPR station’s promos for people to send in poems to be read online or to send in back-to-school “perspectives” (90-second essays). But I have no need to submit my writings for comparison to others’ writings! My writings are my own! I feel no (or very little) need to compare my writings to others’, to compete with others’ — my writings are mine, are from my life — that’s all. No other standards matter! [20 Aug.]

† At lunch today, I read in article at LitHub the line: “One of the traits most commonly associated with people on the spectrum is an inability to lie” — and I laughed: That’s me! And I’ve suspected my spectrum-place. [25 Aug.]

‡ Writers must model other minds, to see if what we’re thinking and saying would be explicable to (and interesting to, and persuasive to?) other minds. [25 Aug.]

† Of course I didn’t have lots of girlfriends — I wasn’t typical! I was seeking deep connection. The existence of atypicals undermines the necessity of the normals’ norms — the normals’ choices, too, are arbitrary, and the atypicals reveal that (by contrast)! [26 Aug.]

A view of my summer morning commute — contrast to winter ones posted earlier. This is facing south on Church Road, south of Route 64. 26 Aug. 2021.

‡ Residing in realm of “we don’t know” (vs. “we know”). Knowing ideas is not knowing the world. Characterizing is inadequate. I could spend more time not-knowing (meditating)? But, I’m giving up certainty. Sometimes I assert things but I also question — and by writing, I empty my mind to paper. A goal of being wise as knowing nothing (not being misled by flawed ideas)? Related points: my wait-and-see attitude toward [a family situation]? And the arrogance of selling “solutions,” as some companies sell themselves as doing. [27 Aug.]

† No branding is needed for my journals. There’s no need to stand out by a simple brand. Like a fingerprint, people’s journals have so many differences from each other. And showing off, showing one’s credentials, is not needed for intimacy. You like my voice or no. [27 Aug.]

‡ No one lives in historical time, the time-mood in which people look back  at the past. Even people 100s or 1000s of years ago live in present-to-them time, as we do now. [30 Aug.]

Cloudbreak over student parking lot, from my supervision post. 23 Aug.

† Poems unfinished — poems like my drawings left to viewers to interpret. Viewers can find a recognizable thing in one part (not a whole-image portrait). Creative readings of published poems — cleave these completed poems to make them more interesting for me to read. Read just the first halves of lines to free my mind from too-familiar patterns. Pushing back against obnoxious control of the author over their published poem — as if the writer’s mind could be better than randomness or better than silence. Let texts be as wild and unexpected as experiences! I could rewrite each new issue of American Poetry Review as it arrives! Why should I read text in the way the author wants me to? Why not read every other world or paragraph or …? (Yes, I’ve said “read creatively” before, but it seems more profound, more freeing, today!) Freeing the mind from having to “get” the single pattern of a text. The power of short sentences in my creative readings, in my McKuen erasures. [30 Aug.]

‡ I like creative reading because I’ve read too many stories. I’ve heard the same songs on radio, and the same kinds of songs, too often. So I mess with them. I may not always have the mental energy needed to play with texts (creative reading) but I am pretty sick of existing ideas — play isn’t too tiring. [31 Aug.]

† What happens to Matt (to me), I thought as I walked hallway to get to photocopier, might just not matter that much. What I think of it is the interesting-to-others (possibly) part. Whether Matt lives to 48 or 88, whether he publishes or not, gets cancer or not — these aren’t so interesting as events. So maybe I shouldn’t (and maybe I already don’t) write about experiences as all that interesting — except as parts of the world that passed through my mind. [31 Aug. 2021]

I wondered yesterday if I look old enough to qualify for senior discount

I wondered yesterday if I look old enough to qualify for senior discount of 5% on Tuesdays at Felker’s. How busy that place seemed yesterday, at least in parking lot. The snow falls. Stickers [“YES” in white letters on green square & “MAYBE” in black on yellow square] are from an NEA-endorsed California Casualty (I think) car-insurance offer. It might be cheaper, but I want a local agent.

And yeah, so I’m debating whether to submit my poems to Poetry mag — only 4 at a time, and it might take me 5 months — well, 4, their website’s submission page said — to hear back. I mean, I can wait, but, blerg, do I really care enough to want to bother with Poetry mag? I mean, what good would getting published do for me? It’d be kinda nice, I guess — but, eh — the downside is that, well, it’d seem to take an attitude toward poetry and publishing that I may not want to take. I don’t want to please editors or compete with others, even if I could compete credibly.

I mean, I like the fun I’m having with writing poems lately, whether with Magpo.com as on Friday or with the radical editing of Rod McKuen’s poems over recent weeks — and maybe my Rod McKuen re-edits wouldn’t stand on their own as well as they stand next to, and in contrast of, Rod’s poems. I mean, my point is, I think, that I love writing poems, the process, and the poems that are left really are almost the by-product of that experience. I’m not sure my poems are that great, on their own, as if I were to publish them in Poetry mag. But that my poems on my blog are just one aspect of my creativity, of the model of creative life I’m living — not quite that. That the poems, the journals, the drawings and photos, that all of these together are — are what? All these are together the image I want to show others? Well, yes, but no — more like, I want to show a life lived creatively — is that it? That I want to show others a way to live? That’s typically what I’m looking for in others’ art and in biographies and memoirs and philosophies — and so this is also what I want to show: I want to say that I’m not just a crafter of poems but that I’m an interesting person — that I’m still learning, and not trying to be a pedagogue — but that I do love doing art things, more than I want to sell these art things.

[From journal of Monday, 23 March 2015, Journal 206, page 58-9 ]