Light fills the walk-in closet my burgundy recliner sets in like a throne vacated by the king and filled in by the court jester. I sit here a sloppily clothed wreck with clothes packed onto boxes of books rising on both sides of my chair. On my left are two shelves one half-way up the wall with classics piled pellmell with word books to the front of the closet like Word Watch, The Cat’s Pajamas, Dictionary of Word Origins, Dictionary of Americanisms, along with thesauri of every type. The books were at one time arranged chronologically beginning with the Iliad and Odyssey and Aeneid to my left side beginning at the back of the closet. There is Plato, Dante, myth, Shakespeare, Thackeray, Dostoevsky, Eliot, Conrad, Tolstoy, Joyce, etc. These are books I have not read. The ones I have read are The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane, The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, The Castle by Franz Kafka, The Trial by Kafka, The Stranger by Albert Camus, The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner, not necessarily in order of importance to me. I am very fond of Kafka because meaning escapes me too. The darkness of my bedroom directly beyond my walk-in closet is very dim and I can only make out the white of the bed to the right and directly on the wall opposite to me is a small, cheap bookshelf with notebooks once filled with love letters I never sent to a Barbie Doll I know. On the left of the bookshelf is a table with terrible legs to hold it. On it are piled books and papers and miscellania. A quilt is on the floor where I lay or sit indian style at times in the night meditating and praying in front of the open sliding glass door on the left wall and variously turning off my little lamp when I feel a passing car is particularly loud and therefore hostile and overly macho. I don’t know if that is a reference to something in my past or just a kneejerk reaction. I know some overly macho men and they don’t bother me so I don’t know why it matters. There is something about the demonic squall of a loud engine that I find instigates me and makes me shut the door to my walk-in where I can hide from the bullies be they the alien which may or may not be in someone’s head that causes this renunciation from loud trucks or the demonic hegemony in America which communicates through sensory modalities and mental infirmities.
There is a long night ahead with such thoughts as these. It is 11:44 P.M. and my cat Lola is getting in the habit of jumping up higher which is new for her. I hope she is not getting on the cabinet in the kitchen. I woke at 8 P.M. today or maybe 5 I don’t recall. 16 hours ago I wrote an 80 line poem ostensibly in iambic pentameter for my sweetie, Sela. Selah may come from a phrase meaning ‘to lift up.’ I believe it is one of the longest poems I have ever wrote. My poems are either dense with meanings or are full of sound and fury signifying nothing. It is a romantic poem obviously.
Sela from Great Britain is my dear sweetness in life. I feel like mighty Patton saving Great Britain in a symbolic way. (I am not saying Patton alone saved Great Britain. Many, many millions of others went into the war to save not just the UK but everyone and the buddy standing next to you.) Of course true salvation only comes at the bidding of the Holy Spirit not from Barack Obama or me or anyone else. The Patton reference may be hard to cypher except for those who have read the poem and commentary I wrote for the first stanza which is only in the hands of my sweet Sela or Selah. Of course maybe I am saying I am getting old. George C. Scott played Patton maybe I think a scottish gal like my Sela will play me like a piano. One can only hope.
Wasn’t George C. Scott great in that movie by the way? He is very memorable and what a job on that screenplay by Coppola. Of course I love everything almost that he does. The Conversation is a great film as well as the big three: G, GII, and Apoc N.
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I will attempt to lift you up in praise Value you in ways that will amaze You, take your burdens from your arms Evaluate your many charms.
You are accepted by this man Who hasn’t withheld his sterling plan To subjugate you darling girl Through love and kisses-rock your world
You may e’er think me very daft. I want to truly hold you tight Before the darkness of midnight.
Before the dawn until high noon. The savior’s coming for us soon.