Hmm, put that way, i don't feel so bad. Been there, done that, and survived. What i mean is i'm homeless once more. Having moved a couple hundred times in my life, i shouldn't find it so difficult. Ah, but choices are miserable. I'll have to ground myself, ie. Psychically, so to speak, before i can lift a foot. True, i had been speculating about leaving my little cottage. haha, the ax fell. the area taken over by the city. the planning commission loves wielding power and charging for permits, blood-suckers, i say. built in 1984 in the county without permission, thirty-two years later it doesn't qualify as a living space.
an act of fate? another message from the gods to move on? if only they could put themselves in my shoes! fat chance. okay, once fire season over, where do i put my stuff? most of it can go. except i checked out the 24 boxes under my bed. yes, all pictures, manuscripts, and diaries, 40 years of work. i'd already cut that cache in half. like most writers and artists, i suspect i've donated it all to the trash. okay, i just read, "most of us unhappy thinking about what we've accomplished instead of what we've enjoyed." I can relate to that. True, i wanted fame and fortune as a writer, especially as a playwright. Little did i realize the competition!
Ah, but the poetry. I still enjoy it myself. And it led me into trips and love-affairs around the world. Those often seemed more painful and lonely and more disappointing than not. Yet i do remembert certain slants of light, even on shabby beaches, and bodies which i recall with great pleasure. The idea i had to have all kinds of experiences to write about the carrot taking me through the jungles of russia, europe, japan, can i disavow that now? even as sordid as they might have been, they've given me memories i can carry in the suitcase of my brain. "everyone wants to be appreciated." o hell, what does it matter now? i'm being forced to live in the present. Alas, the moment never very satisfying. Only imagination can give it the grace it needs.
Yes, i am stirring the soup. I keep thinking i'd like summer in winter. I can't afford a playa in southern california, mexico riddled with headless bodies, morrocco feels beyond the pale, too close to grinning terrorists. What does that leave? South and central america. Poverty. Indonesia. Claustrophobia. And what am i actually considering? A place where i had a terrible time before: australia. So, that was 32 years ago. All news says it's changed for the better. What about a train-trip around the perimeter. the people fun, even if strangely down beat. Of course, i was in a terrible mood myself.
Anything else interesting? I could by an rv and travel to florida, the only state i've never been in. It has beaches. One israeli friend said, "when i hit miami i felt i'd come home." True, he's attracted to the underbelly of life, the violent and crooked, not exactly my cup of tea. I could buy a trailer and stay in town, find a place to caretake. I'm reluctant to decide anything too soon. A time of terror is also a time of opportunity.
