Stationary Unicycle

Hey there friends. In the past, I haven't been shy about talking about my bipolar II, my near constant depression, and anxiety. Writing about my experiences has been a mixed bag. Sometimes I feel I am reveling too much and that I'm embarrassing myself.  Then there are times when people reach out and thank me for being honest about my mental health struggles. Some folks find comfort or solidarity in the stuff I write and that's good, because that's my hope and intention.  I've been mostly silent though about this most recent episode. It's been so dire I felt foolish discussing it much. It just felt too big to be real. I worried that people would think I was being overly dramatic. I have been tempted to dump it all out there like a bag of old garbage, but I though, who needs that. And frankly, at a certain point it felt like who cares, why bother, it's all a load of shit and in the long run, who gives a fuck. At this point though, I feel like I owe

I'm reading W.S. Merwin, or trying to. I don't know, but I gather, he was educated in a rather classical tradition, which is sort of uncommon among the common folks especially these days. Not a lot of Greek and Latin scholaring going on if you know what I mean, which I think you do.  I need a translator and an historian to walk me through Merwin, with his references to Greek history and Latin phrases.  It's beautiful stuff though. The most accessible the poem  for me so far is,  The Dance of Death .  A king, a huntsman, a scholar, a monk, a farmer, and a woman (because at the time, a woman would not be anything else but a woman) address the reader in verse, what it is to be alive, but then each stanza ends the same, "Et, ecce, nunc in pulvere dormio"  which I looked up and it's a quote from the Bible, Job 7:21 "For now shall I sleep in the dust, and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be." Bible words in Latin. Wowz. Be

a poem by Louise Gluck  Under Taurus We were on the pier, you desiring that I see the Pleiades. I could see everything but what you wished.  Now I will follow. There is not a single cloud; the stars appear even the invisible sister. Show me where to look,  as though they will stay where they are. Instruct me in the dark.  Isn't that beautiful? That to me is just perfect.  Isn't that perfect? Everything just comes together. Perfect.  Of course, I feel inspired. Under Uranus... easy fishing, that. Low hanging fruit. But can you blame me? I know Uranus isn't a constellation, but it is a heavenly body, so I let it stand.  "Of course,  you 'll have to  know  exactly where to  look  for it. Barely visible by a keen naked eye on very dark, clear nights... Uranus  is...visible during the evening hours among the stars of Pisces, the Fishes."   https://www.space.com/22983-see-planet-uranus-night-sky.html

The other day was National Orgasm Day. I missed it. Do I have to wait until next year to observe the day? Questions that keep one up at night. Why do I keep trying to write the word random "randome" ? I have similar issues with handsome, only I try to leave the "e" off. And Awesome. This makes no sense. Sense is a word I often stupidly misspell "sence". It looks wrong, I always catch myself before it's too late. Misspell is another word I often misspell. Not mispell, but mistook, not misstook, right? Missunderstood? Confusing. I can't spell. It's not a secret, but I try to compensate. Spell check is something I'm grateful not greatful for. And I am delighted and fascinated by the etymology of words, you'd think that knowing the origins of words and their evolution would significantly improve my spelling, but no. Yup. What else. I am not a fan of summer, the heat, ugh. I can't stand it. But I have a nice memory of being

As part of my ongoing homage to Kenneth Koch, here are a couple of little poems, odes if you will. To Life, If Life were a Gift  I didn't ask for this it's the wrong size I don't like the material it's not as advertised I would have been perfectly nothing without you the spaces between people air without breathing To Life if Life were a Fairy Tale rarely if ever Goldilocks' just right spilled farina a broken chair rumpled bed clothes an ungrateful child lost in the woods waiting for bears

I mentioned I was going to borrow from Kenneth Koch's New Addresses: Poems . Every poem in his collection is an ode, a poem addressed to something.  I love that idea, and I've decided to write a series of odes myself, just as a writing exercise, not to steal but just to write something, I've hit a dry spell, and well, whatever. I've written a couple of poems. He wrote a poem called To Life, and I wrote a poem by the same name. It's very different in every way, starting with quality and ending with content.  As far as I know, Koch didn't write a poem to a housefly.  I have.  If he had, it would be better or course, but I beat him to it.  To the housefly buzzing and bouncing off the screen of the open window you are obviously unsatisfied with your surroundings It's clear you'd like to get the fuck out of here you can sense the outside world yet it's confounding illusive elusive  In a few d