Henry Miller on t.v. right now, middle of the night, old and white
\nwith his memories (his mother hated him for not becoming a tailor).
\nSome fear has me in its wind. Tonight the first time out of the house in four days.
\nCars like menacing drones with their unpredictable minds, people leering,
\nwearing their habits (death like a brother flows through Miller through Assisi)
\nwith what grace they can muster, or, lacking this, press their faces on the windows
\nof the moment. Food, like lumps of the earth, bringing the presence of animals
\ninto the caves of the body, flows outside. I am dealing with things as intrusions,
\neverything but words, reading furiously and hearing everything.
\nLast time out went slamming from a barroom for this very reason.
\nTonight the place has no effect, just a feeling of weight that borders sadness.
\nNow I must have the radio on (you see). The writer with his cane has gone off,
\nnothing but exploding autos on the dial. My eyes are attracted to the flames.
\nFor nights the coincidental shadows on this couch have been playing over this body.
\nStill it knows nothing, yet feels, perhaps, that it does. Sinewed darkness moves time
\nsomehow faster, making it more valuable. The days I have been throwing over,
\nas if with a fork, while each night, collected and compressed like a diamond,
\nstands shining behind the eyes. My plan is to sleep through Charlie Chan
\nand see what happens then. I am very worried about changes in the world,
\nmine as well as everyone else’s. My preoccupation with life is visibly diminished.
\nThe first show has come and gone, the second on its way. So what?
\nHow many times do we have to say that? Are we so civilized the snow must mean
\nmore than itself? Pop goes the weasel. I dig myself under cover.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"