The nail

The nails are growing long again as the stunted one from he accident with the wood burning stove grows slowly with ugly ripples and dents. I tell time best these days by those dents, rather like the circles in a tree or more accurately by how a rope tied tightly to a trunk become encircled by it over time. I am in it's third month if I remember correctly in these odd times. So much has changed. A grand child born. A son struggling with creativity the cruelest mistress of all. Another son trying to make up for time, so much lost and in love, wanting to be good enough. And I think in my quiet moment how lucky they are to be alive. But I don't want to remind them of that pain, create an obligation of happiness.

The vengeance of invisibility

There is only one person in the world that I talk to without any intellectual reservation. At eleven I wrote a poem about being the dancing doll and all that I was would be hidden safe inside me.  That was for my father.  But I was at a family gathering last night and heard that apparently twitterers and face Booker and bloggers are illiterates who are incapable of putting sentences together.  So I guess never getting "over" the problem of not showing myself (now I hide behind dark humor - apparently my family is unaware that one of the best predictors of native intelligence is humor - one of the many things, like the suffering of the poor for instance, that they are oblivious to) is probably a good thing.  These twits have obviously never tried to Twitter.  It takes a PhD in Haiku to say something funny or intelligent in 140 words or less!

Anyway, that is why I have a blog with only one follower (who I know never checks it.  She is being kind.  He He.  See, she doesn't even know that I know that. LOL!  I get a really perverse kick out of all this.)  Don't get me wrong, I love her.  I mean I really do and she is the safest of the unsafe which is pretty much everyone except the one person who will go unnamed....but that person knows who that person is.  I'm so cutely obtuse!

So a blog that no one reads is a place to be completely real, everything you can be, and no one knows.

This is just a whisper of a long thought..
Later.

Naked in Time Square

You can say anything here and no one will ever know.

It's like standing naked in Time Square with the lights out.

Odd and amazing...

Speaking so loudly to no one....

Wow!