Already having been here for an hour and a half and out of coffee but rich in apple fritter - the radio plays Steve Miller much to a lack of excitement about it from the general crowd gathered in the IV infusion lab at Sherman Hospital.
We started this morning at the wound care clinic and waiting for a surgeon to look at the near 7 cm wound in my MIL's chest.
for another topic - I have bought a copy of my own book for my wife's
first generation Nook - she now has a color Nook and I am borrowing her
old one to read Mark Twain's Autobiography as it is a rather large book
and difficult to hold while in bed, lying down and preparing for
restlessness in the dark. Anyway - I then got an app for my iPhone that
makes available my Nook books on my iPhone - the line breaks are not
correct on the iPhone and I cannot imagine reading something like a book
on the phone that should really be for making phone calls and not
playing games, checking e-mail, taking photos and all the other crap one
can do with the phone. I wouldn't be surprised if the next iPhone was
designed to do everything including talk for you and organize your
garage but not make phone calls - and they will change the name to what
the device actually is - a handheld personal computer - desktop, laptop
and the handheld - next real step is the implant singularity.
I am tangential by nature.
like being able to carry my book, as in MY book, with me everywhere and
have it take up no added room. This is especially handy as I don't
memorize my poems and try to forget that I've written most of them - now
when someone says - tell me a poem, I can bust out my phone and do just
walked, mid January,
through snowy woods
stepping lightly the tracks
of those travelled before,
leaving some for those behind.
no turns but trees to rest upon
no crickets to sing or call
no voices but those of
no impressive sigh
but that of our feet
as I looked further,
down the path
it was Sebastian I thought of
and his arrows.
- Hoc Scripsi
is one of the first poems written in this year and I wonder what will
be the last completed. I wonder what will be the first of 2012 unless
the earth comes to a mind bogglingly spectacular end tomorrow night.
I do not look forward to organizing my paperwork for the tax man/woman/alien.
My MIL sleeps lightly in the barcalounger while being infused - I type and listen to bad radio commercials.
I am informed by bad advertising and pulp and the slush pile which my poetry occupies.