Over the month my TOpoet.ca following blog shrank to 350! I went through my followers list & cleared some who had never liked a post or who really didn’t have any real connection such as ‘dog training tips.’ Only one has re-followed me. The May WP map show my hits have come from around the world. Latvia! Indonesia!
My Tumblr following is at 272. Twitter at 225. I know these are all low numbers – some people have thousands of followers but on both I delete or block followers who are harvesting rather than actually following. Picture Perfect is up to 32000 words.
May has been another month of adjusting to the new reality of masks, sanitizer & social distancing. I’ve reluctantly cut back on my morning walks & have replaced some of them with domestic chores: gardening, cleaning, purging but that will come to an end – the house will be clean enough & I can go back to daily walks. I have been doing social distant walks with some recovery friends so the isolation hasn’t been total. Also seeing a couple of my fwb (who are maintain social isolation themselves) for movies & chit-chat.
Working through The Artist’s Way slowly but surely. It clearly wasn’t written with a pandemic lockdown in mind 🙂 Some of the issues it addresses take on a different sense of importance (or lack of) as the death toll mounts. But it has encouraged me to reexamine my past.
By reexamine I mean that literally literally – I’ve been reading Old Trout Funnies – a book about a comic book, an acquaintance of mine created while I was living in Sydney. We were drinking buddies. I left before Issue 3. The book puts Trout into a context & explains many of the very localized references. Plus I get name checked a couple of times & I know many of the people who show up as characters in the wild stories. Fascinating & highly recommended.
Also literal has been the inputing of my first novel ‘Allan Time’ which I wrote in the late 60’s, early 70’s. Resisting the temptation to edit has been a challenge, though I have made the paragraphs breaks tidier & improved the spelling. It is an interesting process as my memory of writing it is very limited. One thing is clear though is how closeted I was.
I’m currently re-reading Jacqueline Susann’s Valley of the Dolls. I have read this book several times over the years. It served as the template for City of Valleys. I love this book. Sure it is soap but it captures real psychology with humour & over-the-top emotionalism. I’ll have to watch the movie again when I’m finished.
a piece I performed at Cryptic Chatter June 2007
Try to Remember
there is a moment when
what I remember
what I dream
become fused
is this my childhood moment
falling down gashing my knee
the scar is there
but is the picture of me doing it
how it happened
was it a fall off a swing
was I ever on that swing
on the playground
or was it some other moment
tipping my bike over the curb
was it an accident on purpose
was I seeking attention
or was I careless
not looking where I was going
did I get pushed or just drop
did I cry
the scar tells me it happened
the mind doesn’t tell me anything
was my mother upset or disappointed
I had come home crying once again
did I cry
was I brave little soldier
was I 10 11 15
did I limp around the house
wanly acting as if
I was and wasn’t in pain
was the trip stumble and scrape
another of my attempts
to be like other boys
playing ball
acting out tough kid stuff
or was I running away from someone
who wanted to beat me up
was I at the play ground
because there was some boy nearby
who sometimes hung out there
did I like boys then
I seem to think I did
memory doesn’t fill in those gaps
doesn’t give me the connections
I need to make a net
that’ll explain today
I see the scar
not a pretty one
not an ugly one either
not like my appendix incision
that looks like
it was made with a can opener
I sort of recollect that
the pain in school
then the hospital for a week or so
in a ward with four others
they were all men
I was a kid in junior high
I liked boys then
I tried to catch glimpses of cock
as the men walked around in pjs
dressing gowns untied
girl friends dropping in
rubbing their backs
I would have done that
how long was it
before I went back to school
did have my homework brought to me
all that is gone
all that remains is a dim image
untied bathrobes hairy chests
laughing nurses
the scars aren’t talking
only tells me that it happened
don’t even remember going home from there
like the scar on my knee
doesn’t tell me any more
when will my body forgive
what I’ve forgotten
I do have a limited number of the original Distant Music chapbook for sale for $25.00 each (includes surface mail postage). Send via the paypal above along with where to send it.
TOpoet 