a horrible example of free thought.*

In my quest to transcribe thousands of pages from old journals, I came across this entry that struck me as rather Joycean, though more in its insane jumble than its brilliance. It is interesting to travel in time back to my days in New York. My life there was very different, very difficult. I have included a photo of downtown Manhattan taken from the Manhattan bridge in the wee hours walking home from a party in Chinatown.


"9-24-03 8:42pm
To what land do I go, trot with a head of gibberish, to and fro through the trio of muses I call men but they are but boys and I lost among them only a smattering of woman. Black and white paisley skirt devours Lolita, ah Nabokov you sick bastard to make me think such love is kind to all of our tattered morals. I leave the city downtown in the East river rippling in a fallen autumn air. Who are these beautiful people sitting in orange plastic boats on voyages to lives I can barely guess, even the effort makes my guts crawl. Two liters of seltzer water and I still haven’t burped away this illness, the ravishing vomit bug that creates new back and stomach muscles to scream when I laugh or cough. Excellent weight loss regimen, this. Great for my intellect as well, creating new words stuporific and swelling with more than normal nonsense like a sticky piece of leather, sodden and bloated on a nail. Ah my sense, where hast thou gone? Dreamt of travel last night, France – Paris, boats, villages, dank mysteries. Cast iron belly coils a stew fit for two, myself and a porcelain friend. Skin crawling misery. Why? Not cursed, just free. Must rhyme for some reason (‘tis the season!) (but no reason at all from rhyme) wow where am I, have I journeyed?"