And, yeah — here I am. My rice pot bubbles. I hear a frequent cricket. It was a sliver moon I saw in east sky this morning. I have a house — I need to keep working to pay for it, but that’s OK. It’s OK because my job is OK. I didn’t wear my new glasses last day. I wonder if — I feel like waiting another day ’til I’ve gotten a better sleep and my eyes aren’t already tired. I don’t think I’d want a literary reputation like Joyce Carol Oates has — but presumably she likes what she’s written. Why else do it (unless one is merely careerist)? I wrote some magpo poems alongside my English 2 students yesterday (during picture-day interruptions and while some kids finished Monday’s pre-test/pre-quiz).
[From journal of Weds., 24 Aug. 2022, Journal 366, page 32. See magpo poems from 24 Aug. below.]
Ancient winter beneath verdant bug:
Lonely, thriving frost uses every dark shade.
Shine rustles, or earth was too blue.
Then seeds wandered with our sanctuary
but never beheld my sky. ...
Mornings do haunt eternity.
Dark liquid, my, those
bellies throb sacred, good.
Her brilliant lie: poetry.
My delicious crap. So then, embrace, boy;
content could download and planet, too.
Dragons crash linear joy to you.
Play her evil protection action.
From dark summer sanctuary, eat
soft moon, then seed fruit.
Only squirrels ate blossom root.
Soft nachos world, how through
Pearls cheat, almost buy upgrades.
Here, relax. Must night dawn me?
This complete, intelligent want:
how some follow insects, give seasons
when moss-dusk strolls.
And an idea this morn for Magnetic Poetry: provide some blank magnets on which new (not-present) words that come to your mind can be written.
But was there more to say—somehow it seemed clearer to me today than some days that my journal is for my private meaning-discovery, meaning-making. And I recall a story about MagPo maker, that he wanted to write songs using random words and how as a songwriter (or poet or any writer for a public audience), you need to create a certain amount of texts, and you might not always want to mine your own life or your personal writings (private writings) in order to get material for the public. And that both are OK, and that sometimes you can take private writings public, but maybe you don’t always want to use up your private writings in that way.
Dog’s rolling on his back in the yard, just living’. We give him a pretty good life, I’d say. We didn’t bring him into life, but we’ll care for him now that he’s here, as long as we’re here, too.
A cool, fall-ish morning—50s, probably—sunny, not humid, highs in 70s today.
Mouse or vole in window well Friday. I put one of the white stakes in window well for him to crawl out on. He was gone later.
Why a parent would tell a kid not to be critical—how M’s mom seems to defend others against M’s criticisms, rather than taking M’s side. Maybe the parent doesn’t want the child to be or to sound so judgmental—though arguing against the child may not be as effective as not engaging criticisms?
[From journal of Sat. 11 Aug. 2012, Journal 164, page 58