the mEp
October 2014

iPhones: French tests: a Funeral: Boston: A Haunted House;

October 23
i mark time.



oh, i mark time alright. i mark it daily.








October 22
foggy and out of time.


foggy sleep, poots waits patiently for any emotion to resurrect itself.
no manner of java is working expediently enough.
slowly, thoughts begin to dart.
things take longer; as days move; time, as we know, warps itself around our lives,
our experiences, and as we watch it grow and shrink. so we must reap and sow around it
not expecting to bend it according to our wants and wishes.
yes, we must expect to change; even though i am not sure we have.













October 21
fighting for your life.


blasting through ups and downs, indeed.
waking, gently, rolling, over.
stillness is forced if you are me: stop. drop. roll.
slap it in the face - painfully searching for the truth - and - i'm really sorry for caring - but i do.

very few people know i'm here. i actually like it that way. it's quiet. i can whisper. to myself that is.
i can talk about me: i can talk about you: i can talk about her: she's not here either.
i'm not about that bass, i'm not about loud although i scream my beliefs at the top of my lungs
at every chance i get.

there is nothing clear, the rules and regulations are not written down.
they don't notice how much i get done, they don't know that i don't watch TV,
that my brain never stops.

it's not a war but sometimes it feels like one.










October 19th
  8:32am


this is my morning: every morning: MY morning.
thick dripped espresso on the right: some manner of rodent scurrying in proximity:
a semi-dark world painting the space above the trees in light;
and neurons searching for synapses that it used to know.

and some manner of physical ailment, today, all manners, from the neck ganglia
all the way to the knobby knees.

it is precious to me nonetheless, more precious than a any stone,
fleeting and rare in spite of it happening daily,
and flawed on most days
like a diamond in the rough.
 
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October 18th
7:20 am


turn around and you see death: it's in front of you, it's in the mirror, each wrinkle and sagging skin,
welcoming you to the end. would i have noticed these if i would not have changed my life?
and what would we do without the circle of life; i am roughly the age she will be when i die.

and Glen Campbell lived and sung in a privileged time; as he sung about wives (not midwives)
with his Taylor guitars. those wives grew from girls who turned around and had 'babes of their own'
in an idyllic time, using idyllic words, spending money on idyllic fabrics,  in a time when people had time;
and not iPhones.


the rest of October is in this corrupt file over here...

the mEp ... aka my Electronic pen . . . the 2014 edition

...and all of the contents therein are copyright  Poot's Place
 
1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000,
2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008,
2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 and 2013 and 2014
That's ALOT of years! I GUESS I'M GETTING OLD....
All photography original unless otherwise credited.
louern@vif.co