This is almost the end.  Four Days, Four Pages.  And she says to me: Please do not be dramatic this weekend which I immediately hear as Please behave yourself this weekend which immediately makes me hear Please do not be yourself, for once, this weekend.
Well, fuck.  Now what am I supposed to do?  I decided to give away the last of my weed which means I was planning on trying that anyway.  But then they all said: I don’t have a choice and I realized that they are all simply helping me out of pity.

Three and a half pages and I remember how I began this one…Marble Notebook.  I bought this one before the Way but now it is done just over one year after moving to the Bowl.  So much love and confusion.

Time is a tricky thing.  I feel I need to make choices, but time always does its thing, on its own.  Time always decides for itself and time always gets what it wants.

I presume people despise the crescent city so much because it is as real of a reflection of life as there is in this country; a small town that has everything: the poor and hobos, the drugs, the violence, god and voodoo, atheism and love and hatred and pain and party, the super rich and all the rest that represent the best and worse of human beings.  It is a mirror of who we really are; the logic, the common sense, the true necessity of survival and the reality of knowing we all die…and need to.  It is the last threshold of darwinism in the 21st century.

The birthplace of jazz is not a clean, safe, God-fearing place.  The big easy is reality.  The queen of the mississippi is the only window left in the u.s.a., in the developed urbanized u.s.a., that lives and dies as it is.

Two and a half pages, my first morning sober in many weeks and my most nagging doubt/thought is: Why do I feel so abnormal for not wanting what everyone else wants?  Am I a cliche? Why do they assume I am weak for not wanting to settle down?  For not wanting what they want?

This has not been my only book this year.  I also had a spiral one, a pocket one, and my recycled one.  But, there is always something simple about the ol’ b&w.

 

 

af

 

 

 

(written to end another notebook)