AUSTIN, Texas, April 30, 2004 —
There are so many things.
That engage my mind.
Things I'd love to study.
From every side.
But there are things.
I can ignore.
A million things I wouldn't buy in a store.
Nor take if you pressed me to.
They exist...but why? I've no clue.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 29, 2004 —
No sleep, a drizzle, a change of schedule.
Throws one off.
To pick up again.
Get a good night's sleep.
Ever wonder why we need to sleep.
I don't think scientists know.
That might be the secret of mankind, right there.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 28, 2004 —
What is real time.
Time flees under scrutiny.
The watched pot boiled a minute ago.
Or never.
As soon as we observe the currency of a moment.
It has escaped.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 27, 2004 —
I want less, more neatly arranged.
I want the latest thing.
With the latest thing minus one.
Out of my sight, undone.
Given or sold and properly disposed.
I want my life more portable.
But substantially supported by the material world.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 26, 2004 —
I displace from this to follow my nose.
Don't deal with that, look at those.
Could be thinking about one task.
But doing something someone ask.
Taking interruptions gleefully.
Otherwise I might focus on me.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 25, 2004 —
I embrace reading the disposible media.
Newpapers.
Magazines.
Periodicals.
Arriving with alarming regularity.
Demanding to be dealt with.
Read.
Recycled.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 24, 2004 —
Together.
Again.
Forever.
Yes, we think so.
Although everything ends.
One way or another.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 23, 2004 —
Sorting rather than using stuff.
The thing in your hand.
Is not going to do one single thing for you.
Except consume the next minute.
And several more later.
If you don't throw it away!

AUSTIN, Texas, April 22, 2004 —
Getting a response. Is a good thing.
You write a WEB page.
And occasionally a reader.
Writes an e-mail as if you were conversing.
About your topic.
Two way.
Communication.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 21, 2004 —
We are always choosing.
What to do.
Can't put it off.
Even if we choose nothing.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 20, 2004 —
The computers take on the personae of defiant children.
Refusing to do what they know how to do and have done and then suddenly behaving and leaving you wondering why, what might be next.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 19, 2004 —
We have a collective memory of the headline events.
But there is only so much storage.
If you were only involved.
Through the media.
If you were ground zero, then you will always remember.
As long as you are sentient.
If you waded ashore on June 6, 1944.
Or saw the bodies of other students on August 1, 1966.
Or choked on the pulverized buildings on September 11, 2001.
Or were riding in a car near the bullets on November 22, 1963.
But if these events were yours in the media only.
They will fade.
And the people who were there will gradually be gone.
Until there is only anniversaries.
And people no longer have these associations.
And another disaster, another date.
Takes first place.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 18, 2004 —
Chemicals surge in your brain and flood it with good stuff or bad.
And that is that?
Are we really nothing but
Chemicals?
We believe we are choosing to smile at the world.
But are we?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 17, 2004 —
Clothes make the man.
They say.
It's funny how attached people are to the things.
They wrap themselves up in.
Warmth? Modesty? Comfort?
No. It's a lot more.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 16, 2004 —
Shy.
Retiring.
Retired.
I think I slip further inside sometimes.
Since I don't have to work for a living.
Cooperating and convincing.
Sometimes speaking to hundreds.
People just don't believe it.
Inside is a barrier.
That never leaves.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 15, 2004 —
You can get things done.
Obvious things.
A neater file, a complete this or that.
Or you can simply do something.
For extra credit.
Check something off your life list of movies to watch.
Take a long shower.
Work out.
Play tennis.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 14, 2004 —
It should frustrate me.
That my friends who are retired.
Write.
Finish writing a play or a novel.
Or a book on chocolate.
But it doesn't.
It makes me feel good somehow.
I must write.
Something.
Besides this phrase.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 13, 2004 —
Spending time fretting.
About where to spend the time.
It's so silly.
But I can't stop.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 12, 2004 —
Old age and infirmity.
Takes, substracts, circumscribes.
When do you know?
When it's left so little
That nothing much matters?
Is it an outside judgment?
Or does life feel alive inside?
Until the end?

AUSTIN, Texas, April 11, 2004 —
Easter Sunday.
I won't say it means nothing.
Of course it means something in the religion.
That is my heritage.
It is, to me, an important literature of my people.
A critical folklore.
That so many people believe.
I won't say it means nothing.

AUSTIN, Texas, April 10, 2004 —
Sky turns dark.
TV threatens hail.
We didn't need to go anywhere.
Except maybe the gym.