These days of anticipation, a child's wide-eyed wonder as the force of tradition accumulates like the falling snow, layers--the loss, the desires denied, and the cogent hypocrisy that carries it all--obscured by the bright white blanket that blinds us, that reassures us, that quiets us just enough so we can sleep.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
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Anticipatory delays. Wonderful blankets of white fluff. They say it's a record, 13' in November, followed by torrential rains, is that all? Broken records...wonder how tradition survives the denied desires. Falling flakes, I've known so many, am I the unique crystal melting, merging into your wet palm? My hypocrisy blinds, like the blizzard wall of white. Sleep reassures us, quiet loss. Let us meld together in the berm of frost.
I anticipate anew. They say it's 2012, the end of the world we knew. How do we know each other, how do we know ourselves true? Blue, in my exile, from you. What to say, to do? Ewe? A white fleece, soft and true. Hypocrisy surrounds me, boo who hoo. A new song to sing. Halleluia, allelu. What else can I do? I send a Happy New Year to you! Sleep then awake to me, please do. Let's get together and just screw.
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