Anne Waldman has a poem about Empty Space. This is me flying through it. I often have the Ascension Dream, you know, wherein I slowly drift up, off the earth like the Marcello Mastroianni in 8 1/2. It's lovely.
A few moments ago, a neighbor lady arrived to ask if she could keep bees on our property. "Sure. Pick a spot. Keep your bees." There is plenty of land. Sometimes my mind starts to drift, though. Like a bee. Or a distracted dog.
Tonight I am watching a Western on Ye Olde Tube. I am also working on a painting, editing 2 films, writing a storypoem about Doc Holiday & Ol' Dirty Bastard, and talking to you about ascension. How is it that so many things are happening? Where does wind originate?
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