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                                                                                    letter 080514

                                I haven’t forgotten you
                                even though six months
                                suddenly seem to have gone

                I hope you are still healing
                                I am reminded to send healing
                I will do this NOW while breathing …
                                at 11:05 am local time (you will have had got this early this morning
                                              it will help with the sic-ness)

                thoughts of you bubbled up
                                when I caught an interview with Joni Mitchell
                                as she talked a little about Saskatchewan –
                she is so beautiful
                she has embraced growing old:
                                she cannot sing now – phht – she accepts it
                                she paints (she said of Dylan that he has
                                disappeared behind his mask
                (I may be slow about this – I’ve never really ‘got’ Dylan
                but it is such a relief – somehow – to know this))
                she still – still! – smokes, she accepts it
                she still stops
                                and gazes away a little when answering a new question not having thought
                everything she needs to ‘in her time’; I do love that woman
                                I wish I lived round the corner from her
                                I could drop in and see her
                                when I’ve lost my way
                (you can tell I have never been to Canada
                                and have no idea what I am talking about)

                I am still wafting around emptiness as if I was a cloud
                I have been back at school for almost a year now
                                but I keep ‘crashing’ (“… in the same car … hotel garage
                                … must have been touching close to 94” now
                                              c’mon, where does this one come from?)
I have odd days
                                where I cannot get out of the door
                                (all dressed up and packed lunch)
                I wish I could just step off the clouds
                                but I think they are solid and I’d fall
                                              (a pity
                I could have such fun being a cloud
                                if I didn’t take it all so solidly)
                                              (where’s that sun when you need it most?)

                still, there is always … Jeff Beck:
                                I have been noticing his odd stabs and curves
                                shaft through the clouds
                                every once in a while
                                              and then there is always … Dionne Warwick
                octave-ing as she steps
                                breathless and lingering
                                              through the early morning of the sixties

                I must remember all of this
I tend to forget it all when the clouds get too dark …

                … thanks for listening; oh, Paddy, I think I’ve found my way

                vibes,

                mlewis

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

beauty wormhole: my life is not your market
breakdown & life & pointlessness wormhole: silent crash // … / after all
clouds wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
Dionne Warwick wormhole: 1966
emptiness wormhole: poessay VII: // true revolution
identity & love wormhole: the pocket
Joni Mitchell wormhole: Joni Mitchell
meaning wormhole: words
music wormhole: someone called Frank
school wormhole: just saying, is all – III
sun wormhole: a splash of fresh water
thinking wormhole: plethora: the Dark Knight Strikes Again (2002)
time wormhole: the straight line of stones marking the geometry / of death / settle all their own levels over time to make / a new rhythm

 

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