having not much else to do, i frequent the bookstore often and spend probably too much money
here are some more finds from there
work has been awfully stressful and frankly a load-of-shit for the meagre sum they're paying me, but having extra cash is nice for a change. a few weeks ago i purchased a 1950s model Smith-Corona clipper portable typewriter. it came in the post quite quickly and it has been perfectly fun to toy around with.
it is most-assuredly in need of a deep clean, but the provisional cleanings and oilings thus far have left a machine in very good working order.
after my father died, i embarked from the town that i spent most of my life residing in. my new surroundings are quaint and terribly boring. there is, however, quite a fantastic bookstore i have taken a great liking to; it is a maze in both layout and size, an obvious and enchanting labor of love. here are some of the choice morsels i have been able to scrounge up there.
more stuff to come whenever there is time.. here's a picture of the bookstore:
and lastly
i fear for my sanity when i think about doing ten more years of this (of anything)
we have wasted human history like a bunch of drunks shooting dice in the men's crapper
all the old same tune, literally, the same single song that proffers me: "drink deep into the night!" and the deepness of the nights becomes the shallowness of the morrow, what shit, that i've a few hours to recollect and regain and do all the same shit again for fear of being thrown to fucking death, frankly, at my age, at my experience
"oh you've done it to yourself"
an easy statement to make when the poison is not your own and you've some bridges left to burn!
the shyest hours of the day have my most beautiful words
My father died in May, and it seemed high time to me to take personal stock and figure out a way forward. I am less sick now, and I return to things as they somewhat were before.
As for my father, I miss him dearly. We did not get so much time as we would have hoped together, after everything. I am glad I was there for him, at the end.
As for what to say about the dead? How about this: Oh well -- He wasn't going to write Beethoven's Ninth Symphony anyway.
it seems that any attempt at putting together words to form some kind of coherent thought is just an excuse for those devils to put it through filter of their own experience and assume things about you
the only way to really escape this, or so it would seem, is to kill oneself and suffer through all the terrible things they have to say about you after you die, until the words come no more and you can be at peace.
It has become so difficult to speak candidly in this format since my father died. Strange how that works: it seems these days I have a lot that I'd like to say, but none of it ever seems to be said. The bulk of my poetry has been uploaded, now. All the stuff that was up on the old website, that is; I have a lot of new written material that I've yet to actually put to type. It will probably be up here sooner rather than later. It seems to be the only way I can say the things I need to, even to an audience of zero.
And of course, a wonderful new year to all.
世から離れたい季節だから。けどよ、結局矛盾じみたとこ作っちまったなぁ。言い出せばきっと矛盾になるのよ。やはり一言もせず死んだ方いたしい。淋しいからな。淋しい。
人間ってこういう一人ぼっち生活じゃ生き続けると気が済まん。済むわけがあるまい。けれど一人じゃないのならそれも敗北さ。絶対損になっちまう。
前のところ消した理由は、わしゃ言うことが価値のないことという、その価値のない状態を認めるんというわけですから。価値のないわしのこと言わなけりゃええと決めた・・と思ったけれどもな。だがやはりいつもこうなる。くそ外道が。
どうせうまくいかないのなら綺麗に済ました方じゃマシなのにね。なさけん。ばかばかしい。
もう笑いもんだ。後戻りはありゃせん。父親が他界しちゃっても無論わしゃ許されん。ホンマ苦しいとしてもやはりうちのせいじゃ。
文句言う余裕もなし。
これもダメじゃろうが。
もはや薬飲んどらんと決めたんじゃ。もうその生き方できない。もっと人間らしく、その人間らしさが悪だとしても、もっと人間らしく、生きたいと思う。人間らしく生きなくてはならんのじゃ。自分で生きとらんとは草臥れた。もう生涯半分すり減らしてきたんじゃのぅ。ここまで生きてきたけぇどうしても生き続けるのなら自分で生きるとはよかろう。