Losing My Way

I am feeling so chipper right now. I should shave my face and put on a frilly yellow blouse, and a nice, pink skirt, because I feel just like Pollyanna. The sun rose today, and the earth's atmosphere, though a bit dirty, is still intact. What about gravity" It's STILL WORKING!!!!! I am so glad I'm not flying off into space. It's amzing to me that people take these common miracles for granted, yet they do. No wonder so many people are such grumps. Phooey on them. I think anyone with all their limbs and who are not suffering from some horrible disease should be happy for each second of the day, but the fact is that some people, even those who are wealthy are actually sadder than people missing limbs and suffering from horrible diseases. What is wrong with those people? Some are even sadder than one-legged beggars on the streets of Lahore, Pakistan, who have stage 4 pancreatic cancer, and they have no one to blame but themselves. Yes, every day is a miracle, so w

Alone in the darkness...dare I make a sound? I can't help myself. I sing out a song Leadbelly sang long ago and keep walking. Can't stop now...keep walking. There are glimpses of life as I pass by, and I listen as the song ends. No applause (none expected), no sound at all except for autos on the street I walk along. The sun is shining, but it is all darkness to me. Maybe yelling would help. Yes, yes, yelling would surely help. I'll channel my inner Jim Morrison and let the world know about the time when Jim and I were back in seminary school. No response from this cold world? Guess I'll have to finish the song, and throw in Shaman's Blues for good measure. I feel so good as my voice vibrates the air that surrounds me, maybe too good. Most people in my situation would be miserable, but I'm too easily satisfied I suppose. "The only solution is the amazing..." I say to some lady walking down the street, but she smiles weakly and scurries away. No con

Soon Henry made it a point to see Melinda every day, after his duties for the day were done. He felt good to be near her, even though his senses were limited by the cybernetic shell his psyche was encased in. And every day, he knew the question on her mind that she would never ask. Why? Why did he decide to take on a solitary existence with death no longer an option, with so many pleasures of life no longer possible. Was it just so he could listen to Mahler without end? He did like Mahler, and somehow the man's music fit the vast expanses he viewed each day, and the giant planet that his station orbited each day. But it was too late to regret his decision, too late to change his mind. Time meant nothing much to him any longer, but now he faced a situation where the passage of time had some meaning, for soon her vessel would be able to go back into space, and she would be on her way, leaving him alone once more. One day he was playing the piano in the lounge, and she was smiling

It's good that people are willing to help the detitute, but there's a certain lack of class to the endeavor. I know I shouldn't complain, but when I ate at the Dorothy Day Center on Thanksgiving, the lettuce in the salad had wilted, and on Friday the milk tasted funny, not laugh out loud funny, but they should make yogurt out of this funny. Today I had the milk, and it was obviously the same milk, because it was nearly sour. As a poor man who's happy to be alive and with my body intact, I am grateful for just about anything, but sour milk is never acceptable, nor is wilted lettuce. Shouldn't pigs be eating this? Yes, feed the pigs the wilted lettuce, then let us eat the tasty pork products; that's how it should work. Now I suspect that the rich will start to harvest us, because the rich know they won't go to heaven so they as well be cannibals. It's probably not true, and won't be for the forseeable future, but when Mister Bezos is willing to spend

Today's entry concerns dreams of the future, and what steps it will take to make them reality. Now that I have a depressing, but free, place to lay my head at night, I can focus on what to do next. I offered the Donald my services as a philosopher, since he doesn't want to become a big-time Hollywood producer (I can't understand that at all), but he hasn't got back to me on that. Does he have a mole from the Democratic Party preventing my messages from reaching him? That possibility seems likely, so I suppose I should just give up on the Donald and getting any help from him. It's his loss. I'll have to think long and hard about any other rich people who need my services. Jeffery Bezos pops into my head, but he might want to shoot me into outer space, and it seems like a waste of time to go that far and come right back. If I go into outer space, I would want to stay there. My priority is getting a band together. I need a bassist and a drummer, of course, and

Many in my circumstances would Crack, but I can keep my cool. I got to sleep in a bed on Thanksgiving night, for the first time since August. It was with over a hundred guys, each in their own bunkers, and I had to win a lottery to get in here. As long as I show up the bed is mine, but I don't like all the people there. For now I'll enjoy having a blanket and a pillow. So I should also be thankful for the people who have helped me, as well as those who have hurt me. I have decided to collect Social Security, since my unemployment payments will soon come to an end. No sense trying to find a job, a realization that came from working for incompetent bosses, who care more about rules than people. I forgive them for their stupidity, and their ulterior motives are not for me to judge. It's a shame that Susana Santiago, who handled newspaper distribution in the Twin Cities, fired my cousin Vanessa after V's car was stolen, and even though I got the papers there without a c

At this moment, I am listening to the Atom Heart Mother Suite by Pink Floyd. Despite all the great music they have done, I think this is their best piece. Everyone should listen to it. I, myself, play it at least once a month, and usually more. It's classical in its form, with adventuous flourishes, and sounds great after Beethoven's Ghost Sonata. Back in the 18th century, classical musicians were not afraid to improvise, like they are today. Wolfgang A. had a female piano student once, and he felt bad that she couldn't improvise a sonata, which is proof that musicians then improvised a great deal. I am certain that most of Mozart's sonatas were things he made up at the spur of the moment, and with his marvellous memory, could recall later, note for note. Why this changed I don't know. I know Beethoven got to writing cadenzas for his concertos, because he probably thought most musicians could not be trusted, but Ludwig van was one of the greatest improvisers eve