i am profoundly disquieted as of late. the proverbial chi has been due course south or some non-centric location. dash and damn it all. feelings of inadequacy. feelings of remorse. feelings of early addiction. feelings of no control over anything. there seems no steady ground to return to, whether in my head, where i work, where i live, where i call home, where i used to pray. it is a sickening of humanity, of them all. sad sick sorry ghosts drifting in and out of consciousness, haunting themselves. i see it i abhor it, i beseech release yet i am bound to the same vacillating torture of life and death, personal apocalypse etc. so i asked newt what he thought the once and future escape was. he was a protoge of elliott and kurt and marx and nietzsche but ended up like hemingway and elliott, and kurt's mother. you can guess. i wondered why it was the most beautiful are so sad to look at. always. newt said because then you have nothing to aspire to. he also was endeared to plato and socrates--the whole beauty of forms love affair appropiately labled a platonic love of beauty. newt was a bastard though. as all writers are. sharon though, she is different. i havent figured her out yet. you know i called her shannon. cut me a break, its a one letter difference-- its an r. some how that matters though. it does. the little things right? i say this because newts first wife's name was sharon. she divorced him after a year of marriage. she too was a writer--a damn good one. apparently 4th wave feminism was born from that relationship. congrats newt, congrats; that marriage wouldnt have died in vanity, it was merely, conceived by it.

i am the son of a bastard. not my father or mother. but what i have made me into. i was never too careful about what i would pretend to be, so i ended up so. this is homage to my uncle kurt. mother night. indeed it was. it is now too i suppose. newt wishes he was related to my uncle kurt too--he's related to hemingway! come on who was the real vanguard of literature!? i mean hemingway killed himself! way to go out with a bang. remorseful. such a sick sad way to die. uncle kurt warned me back in the fall of 2005 that he might be going soon, but that i shouldnt worry. he fought the good fight he said. i said i thought so too. he said hed run the race. i said i tought so too. he said he wanted to kill himself numerous times. i said i did too. he said do you know why i didnt? i said i think youll tell me. he did. he said it is because of the sermon on the mount and the beautiful person Jesus was. i can buy that. he said to me, you are not alone, there are others like you. you have been sick for a long long time, but now you are healed. i said it back to him. he smiled then said, sipping his lemonade on the balcony of his new york apartment, "well if this isnt nice, i dont know what is". so i say that too now. such a beautiful person. still, so sad. how is it that such calamity brings such elegance to life?