Pictures of You


I became a sucker for Robert Smith when Kiss Me! Kiss Me! Kiss Me! was released in 1987. I was 20, and 6 albums behind. I got the deep catalog around 1999, when Napster, coincidentally, was in existence. 

I'm sitting alone in this big house listening to angsty 80s English pop. Leiney has headed back to Bellingham, or is after she finishes work. Abby is at a concert at The Vera Project.  Jenny is heading home from dinner at Ivars with her NY friends. Last night I learned the woman married to the hedge fund guy just bought Don Imus' apartment on 67th for 10 million bucks and an apartment on the main floor for their kids to hang out. 10 million apparently is a steal, and they have to do massive remodeling. Money 💰 🤑.  Must be nice.

I spent the afternoon hacking at blackberry bushes.  I hired a guy who finally came last week, but he did a shit job.  So, I am continuing the work.  The bushes I hacked at today are about 12 feet tall.  I want a buffer from my trees that I can maintain.

Entry 2     10:27 p.m.

There is always hope for tomorrow must have a lot of loopholes if it is at all true.  Waking up with a terminal illness, or going to bed with one and knowing it will still be there when you wake up isn't a recipe for hope.  Jenny's nighttime mantra, "I don't want to die," sounds exactly like her morning greeting. While she is managing to carpe the fuck out of her diem, I, myself, am stuck.  

I've shifted to listening to Aurora, who may be some kind of Norwegian witch, like Loki in The Vikings.  The algorithm

is kind to me tonight, offering me music illustrated by some acid dropping Ram Dass sampling fool. Maybe microdosing mushrooms 🍄 would improve my psyche, my mood.  

There is nothing to do about this sadness. Jenny is dying. Jenny loves another. I don't know about anticipatory grief.  I have grief for the events of here and now.  I will have grief tomorrow.  I will have grief next month. And the days will get shorter and the nights darker, and with them my moods. 

Each night, as I am writing, I think that I should ask the big question.  But what is the big question?  Who can know? And if I managed to ask it, who could answer? And, if someone does answer, why would I ever believe them?

For today, with a truncated sense of inquiry, I just want to know that tomorrow will be ok.  Tomorrow will be o.k. Tomorrow.  Will be o.k.

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