someday hed like to see her actual diaries 

he had published copies

edited

words correctedhed like to see it written in her own hand

hed fucking learn French if her Executor assured him he could

30 May 1915

Thoughts on the day of my First Communion.

When I see the miseries of this World, I think if I were rich, there would not be one poor person on Earth.

she was 12

it galled him that a single person – one – could always be sacrificed   one

if one could be sacrificed 

then two

if two

then three

if three

then four

at what number are the sacrifices too many

if that number cant finally be said outloud

then those who believe in sacrifice ought be the ones sacrificed

1151,  Monday,  23  12.19

1207,  Monday,  11  5. 20

    

a painting hangs at the foot of his bed

not many would call it a painting

none would know what the whitewash hid 

                                                 except for him  and the artist

she painted her portrait 

all her portraitures were quietly  subtly   her

he thought it was one of her finest efforts

he told her so

she said she hadnt captured what she wanted

she grew visibly upset

Maybe trying to console her he offered you captured what the portraiture wanted you to

his characters often did what they wantedsaid what they wanted coerced him to follow their lead

she smiled sadly That’s different, baby, writing is not a visual art.

I don’t like it.

              abruptly she lathered it with whitewashlathered it before he could interruptstop her take the painting for himself

when she finishedexhausted by her furious brushstrokes she left it to dry on the easel

as it driedhe checked it throughout the day the portrait was stubborn as was she adamant hints of her eyes peered through the whitewash the cocked defiant attitude of her headsoftly submerged an ethereal shadowher hair woven and cluttered with wildflowers and stars  vague   opaque

it was all he needed

                     hints  suggestions   possibilities    nothing was impossible

he tortured her and others with Im-possible

she wanted to paint over it

she was pissed thats what she said when he hid it from her

Ill buy you another canvas

I don’t want another canvas. I want my painting.

You concede it is a painting

I want it.

Im not giving it to you

I want it. 

Or I’m leaving.

1052,  Monday,  23  12. 19

1134,  Monday,  11  5. 20

$81,751 Mr. President

Good morning 

its nice to be able to say good morning and mean it say it to someone you love 

81,751 Americans have been denied many were denied Good nights I love you were deniedbeing surrounded by loved ones as they died who desperately wished they could have been therecould have said  Good bye. I love you so very, very much.

since he was memorialising

                            memorialising Americas dead by coronavirus for his own benefit reminding him of what cuntking sounds Chinese the president failed to do he also thought he might asterisk this datethis time in History Barr said History is written by the winners -- hes counting his chickens before theyre hatched memorialise it with a fantasy

that being

          perhaps the White House chef could serve the president his chocolate chip pancakes wreathed with oodles of whipped cream and write on top it with his favourite chocolate syrup in a clear stylised script  $81.751

the president understands the dollar signhed understand 81,751 dollars 

he doesnt get it a socoiopath wouldnt when 81,751 is attached to lost lives  

theyre not warriors

this isnt a war

theyre victims

victims

Eat and swallow your pancakes Mr President 

Eat them for those who are dead and cant enjoy breakfast

0902,  Twosday,  12  5. 20

Barr  https://www.nationalreview.com/news/barr-defends-doj-dropping-case-against-michael-flynn-history-is-written-by-the-winners/

waking up with a chuckle in his book was always a good thing better than screaming outloud because of a nightmare and in a panicked sweat 

                           however neither badgered him

the chuckle made him wake whodadfuck in America dreams in Latindreams in words that move like water or flutter like fallen leaves butterflies moths anxious at a burning bulb

all he could scarcely remember of Latin was from when he attended Catholic church with his grandmother as a boy

the priest his arms spread wide gown pleated pristine white seemed like wings overhung with a festive purple and gold stole stood directly beneath a massive crucified Christ carved of wood 

it was awesome

Grandma Do you know what hes saying

Sssh.

Do you . .

. . Not now she said in broken Englishits shards mangling the two syllables Not now, boy.  

he wanted to persist 

he couldnt read yet 

it angered him when people said things he didnt know and this man this priest standing on the ambo could have done him the favourprobably the entire church by speaking in English not mumbojumbo an archaic tongue a tongue like those used among specialists who want to keep the layman at bayvocabularies meant to confuse and dismay anyone who wanted to know exactly what they were saying

the way priests and doctors and lawyers and gangsters talked

in his dream the best he could make out was because the letters floated indiscriminately weaved about and around each other formed other words or nonwords was interare territarum in script in fonts unspoken he would have had a better guess if someonesomething opened its mouth and said

                                                                and if he didnt understand what was said he was already trained up 

he wouldnt have been upset

rather it tickled him

                      it was hard to tickle him while he was awake

so still chuckling and blearyeyed he rolled right to an old feed crib stood on end that served as a night table and took the pad and pen there and scribbled what he thought the juggled letters said inteerar territory not territory territsomething  instree terri something each word threefour syllables  

he returned the pad and pen to the table 

it wasnt gonna get any better than that

he laid back down and still his breath broken by a chuckle he tried to fall back to sleep and run the culprit down if it hadnt gotten too far ahead of him

running down a street  it was very familiar to him cobblestones brick rowhouses  old iron Balustrade fences topping concrete and stone curbs  a yellow light coming out through an open window paleivory eyelet curtains moving to the nights breath then she appeared at the window waving to him blouse open as he remembered bra fastened hastely a crescent moon aureole coquettishly exposed as he remembered she was a working girl who worked him plenty more than the fifty he gave her from another dream

Whadayasay? she cried coyly shaking her tatas Yaint got damoney Ill take an I-O-U.

hed call that a harmonic convergence

he let Latin skip on ahead

itd lost him anyways

hed rack it up as a long shot a valiant effort

although

           while interare territarum didnt pay off hed check it when he woke he was definitely going to get off

interare territarum roughly an he wouldnt be upset if someone corrected him  interare – to put into earth  territarum – to frighten, to terrify

                      pretty heavy shitriotous shit for Latin Word Jumble casually cropping up in a dream

0430-ish,  Sunday,  10  5. 20

1007,  Monday,  11  5. 20

Neil Young  It’s A Dream  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJNB8fXje3I     

Kentuckys Senator Moscow Mitch Majority leader snickers

                                                              the novel virus is running horrific cover for his scorched earth campaign so that he and the presidents Senate enablers can confirm illegitimate judges

Moscow Mitch snickers is over the moon Fake media is captive to Science to Testing Testing Testing which is nowhere as important as pushing through more and more and more judges

they will have made their indelible stain on future generations 

                                                                  unless those judges die sooner  than later

1837,  Monday,  11  5. 20

Im havin a hard time rememberin my dreams he fessed to himself because heHe was always listenin alwaysalways listenin in  watchin 

                      he used to think He was curious  a voyeur

he thinks now Hes an eavesdropper an interloper who lacks perception seemingly is unwilling to provide feedback

His 2 cents

when he wakes there are thin stains smeared on the facethe edge of his consciousness vague shadows telltale impressions  presences dreamed who didnt sign the ledger when they entered

they didnt stumble around they were purposeful

                                                   although he couldnt understand themdidnt recognise their clues or purpose or intent their intricacies were helter skelter  he couldnt pull their strands or threads or gather their ends together 

         his dreams were peopled with characters he didnt recognise he didnt care for which wasnt uncommon even dreaming of people he knew would have been uncommon

                                                             their confusionthe clutch of people the purpose seemed only to complicate his dreams  mire him

mornings he woke up laughing recognising the abysmal futility of trying to get ahold of something that would elude him

he felt his usual wakened labyrinth was being cooptedwas feeding these new subversive labyrinths of milling unknown people that he sidestepped or pushed throughwent past their beings  and words 

he was rudehe offered no excuses

they thought they were important 

they were tedious

he was contemptuous he avoided the obstacles they laid in his path

moving through them he negotiated their pitfallstheir hairpin turns he was confident that on the other side of their busyness and melee there were the quiet sinuous turns reminiscent of his wakened labyrinthhis usual sleeping labyrinth sleek like vaginal folds slick an smoothwalled

                                                             he imagined rosewater and followed its current  

water rosewater always sought the path of least resistance

and that reminded him to be who he was 

he believed in the water of his indomitable spirit

0821,  Monday,  23  12. 20

1419,  Sunday,  10  5. 20

Lisa Hannigan  Undertow  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSnaQAv77JE           

she was 12  Anais  when she wrote on 27 April 1915

                                                          Bouby (a doll) is the only child I shall ever have, for I want to be free, always free, I don’t want anyone except Papa and Mama to judge what I do. I want to give myself completely to poetry, to writing, to stories, but Man proposes, God disposes; I shall let God determine my future.

theres a lot there to refute or to depose

                                         stubbornly he had to remind himself that she was only 12 years old however he considered age irrelevant she had written better and saw better than many people twice her age

he had to admit he was familiar with nubile women whose commonsense and intelligence outran their years their intellect was in place well before society or culture tried to mold themtried to indoctrinate them

they were called bitches  or worse

he liked bitches

he numbered them among his best friends 

certainly their feminine raw appeal provided him an ascendant opinion however that appealtheir intellect superseded his dumb-as-a-stick muscled brotherhood who hadnt an argument  a flicker of original notoriety

Anais never did have a child

she remained her entire life free though not without some expense to herself and free to an extent that would twist many people make them uncomfortable

she was not chaste neither her mouth nor her body

she was experimental experiential  unfetteredly free

                                                         which she sought since she was 12

he thought perhaps facetiously what could have provoked her made her singularly seek her freedom was her formal name

Angela Anais Joana Antolina Rosa Edelmira Nin et Culmell

                                                               a mouthful though not as pleasing as a mouthful of pussy or tit or cock

0926,  Monday,  23  12. 19

1600,  Sunday,  10  5. 20

I confess

I confess

          he thought only priests heard confesses an ofcourse when priests get drunk together Have I got one for you!

God leans in close Tell me. Maybe I’ll recall. You remember how many votive you had them light? Excuse me if I don’t recall; lots of people assume they’ve sinned, good you boys keep the screws tight. furiously he rubs his hands together  Speaking of boys . .

I confess Nin wrote as Linotte 13 years old  Linotte is French for linnet a kind of finch  a little bird

she confessed

writing is an act of confession

admitting

revealing

exposing 

           maybe thats why people dont prefer to writenot even to answer a letter  he could suppose that they werent committed

            and maybe thats why he didnt get along with many people

he was committed

                          he supposed he could be   dishonest          

but that wasnt in his makeuphow as a juvenile he formed accumulated   congealed

he could no more lie than he could submit to greed

greed isnt necessarily selfishnesshe was selfish

selfknowing has selfworth

unnegotiable

NOT FOR SALE

                  See?

a confession committed in wrioting

0749,  Monday,  23  12. 19

1814,  Saturday,  9  5. 20

            8 April 1916 I wonder if I wouldn’t do better to live, rather than philosophise Anais Nin committed to her diary revealed to him in her book Linotte 

she was 13

better to live than philosophise

better to live than write than wriote NAH wouldnt happen

he always had something to say

                                  give his 2 cents

he gave his 2 cents wanted or not

it was usually unwanted

Hush it didnt work

the older he grew then they really couldnt hush it

too much depended on him saying

he was the only person in the organisation who would say anything

that was one way of saying it

the other way of saying it was that he was the only person who dared

his coworkers were cowards

his preamblehis preface was Correct me if Im wrong

                                                      By all means correct me if I am wrong

he wasnt corrected

because he wasnt wrong

he was the harbinger speaker of inconvenient truths

he didnt thinkdidnt believe he would be fired

he didnt toe lines he stepped over them

he only acknowledged boundaries when they were erroneous

Youll excuse me he said  but why would anyone work for a dishonest company

when he was hired he told them he would accept the job on the conditionthe understanding that while he would be a good reflection representation of the company he also expected that the company would be a good reflection of him

It works two ways

It only works two ways

when they hired him they accepted that premise

which made him fearless

                                and willfully philosophise

Monday,  23  12. 19

 1539,  Saturday,  9  5. 20

it was a real fancy house top shelf   whadafuck was he doin there 

they ran into each other randomly

she saw him first

had he seen her first he wouldnt have recognised her

Joe! she startled him as she wove through the crowd milling along the riverwalk  Joe!  she waved madly

he waved casually at the beautiful woman rushing towards himhe didnt recognise her

she threw her arms around himhugging himdamn near mounting him he wouldnt have minded

she let go stepped back still holding him at the shoulders he looked deep in her face  Ohshit  Giselle

YES! she lunged at him again and this time did mount himhe had her by the thighsthe fabric of her dress tortured Oh my God she murmured in his ear I never thought I’d ever see you again.

Nevers a long time Giselle  You definitely saw me

he set her down she pulledtugged arranged her dress pulled it upcheating him of her handsome cleavage I didn’t think you’d recognise me, but I thought what the hell, you haven’t changed a bit, and, ah well, you must know, you have a place in my heart.

he smiled like a fool memories of them bullrushed himmade him breathless with their impact he remembered she was ascendant he remembered he thought hed be an anchorhe would have been a bad fit for where she was going and he didnt want to inhibit herdidnt want to slow her down

                                                        I wouldnt have recognised you from afar

she grinned toothy I recognised you from behind.

Christ

I always told you you had a distinct walk.

You did  I always told you you were full of shit

You did. I caught a glance of you walking near the railing, you always prefer the edges of a crowd than mixing.

Oil and water Giselle

And you always said that too; whenever I had functions that I wanted you to attend with me.  

I knew you could mix if you tried.

I didnt want to try

No. You didn't.

But if you had . . she mused

                               he could see emotions turning in her face her features were more womanly she was more beautiful as a woman than as a younger woman 

he mused 

You’re staring at me.

I am Youre beautiful Im admiring you

Would you like to admire me away from this crowd?

I would

I don’t live far from here. Let’s go. she took his hand and pulled it to her thighsbetween them I’m ecstatic to see you, be with you again. Come. I walked here. We’ll cross the river on the bridge ahead and head towards the lake, that’s my neighborhood. she relaxed his hand fell away from between her thighs but she continued holding it

Your hand always fit well in my hand, Joe.

Likewise I dont think we went anywhere that we didnt hold hands

I don’t think we ever went anywhere without holding hands.

It feels  wonderful frankly

It does. When we get home, if you like, you can freshen up. I’d like to run to the market and make us a special dinner for tonightyou don’t have plans?

If I had plans Id break them

You wouldn’t think twice.

You remember

I remember you don’t think twice. 

I dont Probably a deficiency To date it seemshowever to have been a benefit

Regrets?

he squeezed her hand

she looked at himlooked him in the eyes smiled

he returned her smile Regrets steal time Why I dont regret

I let you steal my time. I regret we didn’t stay together.

he squeezed her hand tightly Look  were getting reacquainted now

he took her up on refreshing himself he had driven allnight most of the day and the river looked inviting it was to be a nice break

he looked out through the pebbledglass set in the massive front door and watched her walkingdisembodied an gathering again up the fieldstone walk

as she began to reach for the door he rapped on it

the rap startled her for a momenther hand falling away then she reached up turned the brass doorknob and pushed the door open in towards him Yes. she said Can I help you?

Yes please I couldnt help but admire he peeked up at the blue skyinto the broad crowns of the Dutch Elms which lined the road  how beautiful this is  Would you mind if I came in mebbe you could show me around  I can take your bag if you like

she extended the brownpaper bag to him it protested

he took it it protested louder as he grabbed its bottom

stepping in he said This is really beautiful wonderful

Why thank you, I’d love to show you around.

Im not imposing

No. No. You’re timing is impeccable.

0854,  Saturday,  9  5. 20

The Byrds  2-4-2 Fox Trot  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EydGJmhadNo