Sorry to be so quiet.

I have been deeply working my book.  But, like my earthworm brethren, I do my best work under ground.

I am in a state of deep concentration, and I have been writing throughout the days.  The ideas start coming in late afternoon, and carry into the night.  I open my computer whenever thoughts present themselves.

Today, I am embarking on a new habit.  I am committed to breaking up the previous day’s writing, where appropriate, and putting the good stuff in folders I have created that outline my narrative.  (Scrivener is my writing application.  I love it.)

I realized that if I didn’t spend some time, each day, to consider my accumulated work, I will not be able to see the finish line for the trees.  On the way here, to my favorite coffee shop, in my wheelchair, I asked myself.

How much more work is involved?  I am not tired.  I am just trying to get a handle on this thing, and develop the large-view narratives within all my pieces.  Then, I can also begin writing towards the synthesis of the narratives.

I am hoping, by autumn, that the majority of the writing will be finished.  Then, I can turn my attention to the completed document, and begin filling in the cognitive blanks.  That’s how I see myself transitioning from lots of writing, to mostly editing.

— —

My sister sent me an email all the way from Australia, and shared a video she liked.

I liked it, too, and decided to participate in exposing a delightful, young artist through the Viral Net.



Scientific Rumor

A rumor crawled along the grapevine, into my ear.

It was presented as scientific fact.

The human faculty, for music, predates language.


Early cavemen played music before they could speak in sentences.

I don’t know if it is true.  But, suppose it is.



Hands clapping and slapping.

Beating out complex rhythms.

Could poetry exist, otherwise?

What is life?

I want to share something.  But, I’m going through one of these myotonic-dystrophy episodes, where exertion brings on pain and.

Moving is exertion.  The days go by, and everything I write seems to suck.

My difficulty writing is part of my MD experience.  The highs, and lows, roughly follow my symptoms through the months.

So, this evening, I vaporized Sour Diesel.

Cannabis overcomes the inertia built into my symptom-cycle.

And Sour Diesel begs for music.

I fell asleep to Kaya.   Bob Marley’s ode to marijuana and rain.


My windows and doors are open.  A storm approaches from California.  Sometime tomorrow, we should have our first rain since November.

We are overcast with winter warmth.  My two cats, and the neighbor’s, are playing tag in the wind.

Throughout the yard and house.


I woke to the question.

What Is Life?

Black Uhuru asks.



Something about this song speaks to me.

The experience of life is framed by contrasting interpretations.

The positive and the negative are both constants.

The choice is where to focus.