summing up, 1977

last sheet in your memory
first half of twenty seven
commmitted to the dissolution
every day is another belief
you grab at morality
you think of exploration
you wonder about your fear
you satisfy nothing
with stupid dreams and sonic
blades from a patti smith
song cutting me open
rivers of vomit
knots of my insecurity
last page of another time frame
tired of pictures
hurt by the self
worried about honesty
afraid of the mail
irresponsible, in turmoil, private thoughts
of private murders, remembered
diseases, tracing you
on the x-ray. No more books
today. Last page and you are
lost in your map. A hundred pages
given to the television,
slipping from sight,
white and grey
particles in a robe worn
for too long
now become skin.
revelation of just
another black hole

only wanted some of your lunar blood
no one ever gave that to me not even
those I once thought read these words

and the letters ~ only thought
you knew, just shows how
wrong I can be, making people
special out of need,
a desperate act from a lousy gambler,
filling up another notebook

The final pages of one of my 1977 notebooks. Clearly most of this is really talking about being in love with Alison and not being able to put the work ahead of this failed strategy. Many of my mistakes come from thinking I am more aware of things than I actually am. I have learned over the years to let some of that go. I know now that I knew very little about the world I lived in. Does it help to realize this? Not at all. The bet was too large and the loss was of almost all the capital I was holding at the time. So I learned to lay back and live through the 1980s, giving up the work, a little at a time.