11.15.25. 0700 hrs

Today is Day 1 of what comes next. I’ve spent the last few years starving my own fires for sake of others; to try and be a man like Dad, to be a man like Amanda’s dad, only to find that I am bitched again. 52 years old, with nothing and everything in front of me.

What a freedom that is.

This evening’s reading with George and Jared is an excellent new day. Appropriate. I’m looking forward to the camaraderie, but also to helping create something fine with two people whose craft I respect who, at the start, helped inform my own. 

Stella just sent a short video of her reading with Mia. Listening to Mia sounding out the words is  a lovely thing. I pray the magic lasts. 

One more thing that needs noting this morning: on inner vision. America only seems to understand inner vision when there’s a nickel to be made off it. While my plan is to write myself out, write Amanda out from under the giant thumbs and mediocre minds, I shouldn’t expect anyone outside of Amanda to understand; especially when the romance wears off and the desperation becomes visible. Writers and steamboats: everyone loves them both until it’s time to pump out the shit, get their hands dirty.

this roller coaster season
in this parallel, the landscape begins
to hunker down for old death and new life
here sits me, scribbling myself
into another season
one more revision