Monday, February 14, 2011

Journal Entry: Sunday, Feb. 13, 2011

Somewhat -- should say -- considerably better today. A day to recover.

Death is a strangely natural muse. is it true that the true subject of every poem ... is Death?

Are my symptoms increasingly consistent with asthma because i have grown to think of them more consistently as being asthma?

It strikes me that asthma would be a condition particularly susceptible to psychosomatic influence.

I cough & enter a kind of momentary alterd state -- not quite syncope -- still conscious -- but something close to a hypnogogic halucination -- but only of time -- of exit & entering & returning to this waking world, which in turn, on each occasion, seems less real & more distant.

In an insane world one has to be crazy to be sane. But everything depends on the kind of craziness... and there is no free choice. It happens... in the form you deserve.

What else can we mean by 'karma?"


  1. This is why we (royal) feed the oracle. What did Levi say about you last year--"this friend of mine whose hands and lips have become life giving,..."?

    And Melville in Chapter LI, The Spirit Spout? "...soft, suffusing, seethings, made what seemed a silvery silence, not a solitude: on such a silent night a silvery jet was seen far in advance of the white bubbles at the bow."

    I bow to you today, Jacob, hypnogogic syncopes, and all.

  2. I spent the night with Blake in the garden of the world and we routed him again the drunken soldier and will again and yet again

    ... to live ever more deeply in the miracle infused with death and dreams light stricken each breath the very breath of life and never less