For my birthday last year my roommate gave me
the gift that I asked for:
a word of the day calendar.
and i use it each day. and i read the word and
i tell myself I am going to use that word in a
conversation at some point during the day.
but i never do.
i mostly see the words as a kind of forshadowing
of what my day is going to be like.
today's word: solipsism.
meaning a theory holding that the self can
know nothing but its own modifications and
that the self is the only existent thing.
i didn't use that word in a sentence today.
i'm not sure i know what it means.
i can't know anything but myself as I change
and exist through time.
i haven't been able to write. but i am writing now.
I thank Bukowski. he inspires me. his poetry,
his alcoholism, his honesty. his death.
I was in the City this weekend. And all I had was one goal.
To find the Bethesda Fountain. It took me over an hour to find.
Its smack dab in the middle of Central Park.
I found Bethesda. (I speak like we are old friends)
and sat and sat. and watched and watched.
for over two hours. in the sun. and i listened and i didnt move.
and i tried to write. i wanted to write. so i did.
and i realize now how much i hate what i wrote. it might have
been good. but i know now it was uninspired.
Bukowski inspires me. Bethesda simply quiets me.
And I thank them both.
