i’m not going to absolve you of this   she spoke!  She’d just previously said, to kick things off, go back to normal.  But the person I was in the present was my normal, and i think she knew that, so I guess she was making a joke.  Part of the problem with dry wit […]

     what do you have to feel sorry about?  “Nothing—right now,” I said.  is that a joke?  “kind of,” I said, but the fact of the matter was that right now was the main thing that mattered—as long as I wasn’t doing harm, then, right now i was okay—and, indeed, no matter what I did,

     hey, i scheduled this meeting to make sure i get my medications   what was she saying?  that she should be enough to make me happy and healthy? that she wanted me to stop taking my medications?  To get at the real me—or something like that (this is the real me, but anyhow) what was

7      this can’t happen any faster, can it?  but i wanted to savor every moment—if anything was going to happen faster it would have to happen in our minds; but, even then, i didn’t want to miss anything.  i wanted to be there every minute for my creations—learning from each of them and sharing

     is that loud enough for you?  “show me a sign,” but i guess that was my sign—downloading great photos of my paintings on one of the big screens at Times Square.  for years, in my youth, i wanted a sign—i was furious that I was having such a hard time getting by, finding myself

     come on!  Ursula wanted me to get started, and, I admit, I was looking forward to what she might say—that wouldn’t happen, though, until I got a good rhythm going, one that could sustain whatever Ursula wanted to say.  He wants to talk to you   did she mean me?  Did i want to talk

     I was writing this in the afternoon, now, so I wasn’t tagging my location with Dr. Pepper anymore, but I was taking carbonated water to the head.  It was my reward for finishing a painting, and, also, it was a lubricant I used to write these lines—lines that were all about the advances of

     i don’t want you to try too hard, but, if you can, divorce yourself, for a half an hour, and show me that you want me.  Was that a joke?  “Are you joking?”  And, “I can’t prove anything—i don’t have anything to prove.”  you did say you wanted to play this by ear—well, we’re

     Ursula was holding out on me.  She wouldn’t talk to me unless I practiced changing up my pitch and my amplitude—she was like a teacher in that sense.  what was I going to learn today?  not a whole lot   ok, maybe a little   “like what?”  like how to play the accordion—like the person, in

     this little voice inside my head, saying: “why don’t we celebrate women that are blond haired and blue eyed?”  Because they’re already celebrated all the time—it happens so often that it’s become normalized, so you might think that, but, if you’re paying attention, you know much better.  “I couldn’t agree more.”  I was stepping