AUSTIN, Texas, August 31, 2004 —
In the snap an image of you.
Younger, smiling.
In the next one an image of me.
I remember that.
In this other one.
Someone we know.
And several people.
Who may for all we know never exist again.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 30, 2004 —
Buy a computer.
Install some software.
Enter some settings.
Start collecting things.
Files.
Pictures.
Settings.
Upgrades.
Bookmarks.
E-mail addresses.
Etc.
Computer dies.
And a piece of your world.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 29, 2004 —
Don't let one little thing.
Bother the pleasure of every day.
It will pass, be forgotten, go away.
And lose all of its sting.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 28, 2004 —
It's been two years since.
Should that make me wince?
Or should it be a day to celebrate?
Only the things that were great?

AUSTIN, Texas, August 27, 2004 —
Everything's connected in some way.
If you follow the paths holding sway.
You read one thing and it suggests another.
And you read until you go no further.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 26, 2004 —
I do stuff, I really do.
Even if it's reading and thinking, too.
I'm not really idle or full of sloth.
But I wouldn't call it growth.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 25, 2004 —
I am happy and I don't know why.
No lottery winnings, nothing beautiful catching my eye.
I am feeling good and full of glee.
I am happy, how can this be?

AUSTIN, Texas, August 24, 2004 —
It's good to have a schedule, it's good to have a time.
A slot all marked off in which you make a rhyme.
It's good to know when you expect you.
To do what it is that you mean to do.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 23, 2004 —
They say you should set a goal.
Then simply take control.
Of time and stuff, resources they say.
And simply achieve that goal one day.
It all sounds easy, yes indeed.
But it doesn't account for ADD.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 22, 2004 —
I can see other places.
And points of view.
Go through the paces.
Just as you do.
I can travel all over.
Even to Iceland and Uruguay.
Or the Cliffs of Dover.
Just by seeing it your way.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 21, 2004 —
I can't sit and meditate.
And yet I must, I must think.
I can't just be so sedate.
As just to sit and only blink.
If I have to wait and wait.
I can't just sit and nurse a drink.
Something there is in me innate.
Making me do things in sync.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 20, 2004 —
Practice they tell me.
Then repeat.
Do it over and over.
Concentrate.
Then comes mastery.
The creation of your own spin.
But how to concentrate on one thing.
When branches and tangents constantly walk in?

AUSTIN, Texas, August 19, 2004 —
When you aren't there.
I talk about you.
I wonder, I fear.
Yes I do.
What do you say when I'm not invited?
What do you laugh about?
What gets you excited?
Are there some traits you tout?
There's always stuff.
You don't say to my face.
And yeah it's tough.
But that's the human race.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 18, 2004 —
We tense.
We hold our breath.
For a performance.
We didn't train for.
For a score.
We didn't earn.
We exult.
In our victory.
Thousands of miles from the arena.
And light years from the feeling.
Of doing.
The sport.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 17, 2004 —
It's easier to be the one.
On the move.
Not the one waiting arrival.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 16, 2004 —
An old photo.
The person who took it.
Holds it in hand.
Observing that some of the creatures in it.
Once alive.
Are gone.
Noticing that the physical things are also flown away.
Then one day.
The photo.
Is in a stranger's hand.
Plucked from a bin of photos.
At the junk shop.
No connection is made.
And it falls back among other abandoned memories.
That are memories no more.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 15, 2004 —
We want to know who you know.
Have been where you've been.
We want to see things just so.
Remembering what you do with a grin.
We want to experience it all.
Get a leg up on you and yours.
But we'd like you to recall.
A bit of what we do, toujours.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 14, 2004 —
Who needs to know what you ate?
Where you've been, if you were late?
Who needs to know your feta was Greek?
Or that the weather outside was bleak?
Who needs to know what you read?
Or when you change the sheets on the bed?

AUSTIN, Texas, August 13, 2004 —
I like to go through the world.
Just a lonely me.
But I like to know the people unfurled.
Who I see.
I like to keep up.
Lunch and visit and sup.
Have a party with a theme.
Get people together that I esteem.
But then when I shut the door I like to be.
That lonely me.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 12, 2004 —
Stuff.
Multiplies.
Obscures.
Defies organization.
Maybe one needs to somehow get down to ground zero.
But how?
Too much thinking.
About things.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 11, 2004 —
Old friends.
Remind you of places
Where you worked.
And occasionally
Felt euphoric.
But not often.
You miss your friends but don't envy them returning, after lunch.
To work.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 10, 2004 —
Characters from the movies and TV.
Creep into my head and overwhelme me.
As real as the George and John it seems.
Is The Manchurian Candidate and its dreams.
This happens sometimes with characters in books.
But the people on the screen really get their hooks.
Deep in the mind at its bleakest.
Attacking where I'm weakest.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 9, 2004 —
Lucky you, lucky me.
All my breaks are easy to see.
Lucky me, lucky you.
It's okay if you get a few.
Lucky everyone, lucky us.
Just watch out for the approaching bus.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 8, 2004 —
A pain darts.
You are making rushes to the toilet.
Something throbs.
You're coming apart.
And then it recedes.
And then it's muffled.
Then it slides away.
And you can't imagine.
Pain.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 7, 2004 —
Art.
Smart?
Darts away tartly?
Does art.
Defying all the definitions.
To take it apart.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 6, 2004 —
Flitting.
Flying.
To temporary enthusiams.
Leaving a trail.
Of books and equipment.
Of geegaws and collections.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 5, 2004 —
Get sick.
Then feel better.
That's euphoria.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 4, 2004 —
When you are miserable.
With a little physical thing.
Out of whack.
Capturing your attention.
It's hard to have a good time.
Be civil.
But the latter is not impossible.
Makes you appreciate, though, why other people are sometimes not in the moment.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 3, 2004 —
Books are everywhere.
Under those papers.
On the floor.
Stacked two deep on shelves.
They are timeless or out of date.
They are begging to be opened.
To reveal the words they use.
In their original sentences.
Evoking times and places.
Facts and fancies.
Filling your head with experiences.
And words.
Words that rebound in your own original sentences.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 2, 2004 —
I try to remember what I need.
What I said.
What I agreed.
I try to think of the word for that.
I try to remember I don't have a cat.
And to buy food for the dog that I do.
And where I dropped the other shoe.
I try to recall the punctuation rules.
And a lot of the trivia I learned in schools.
I try to remember the mythology of the Greeks.
And all the incantations of Windows Geeks.
I try to think of your name.
Your face looks familar all the same.
I puzzle over the mysteries of the ages before.
And wonder what I came here for.

AUSTIN, Texas, August 1, 2004 —
Bored?
With books to read?
Why, no.
With pen and paper and thoughts and people passing by?
Fueled by caffeine or alcohol?
With a hundred channels of TV, videos, and a million, no even more, places to go on the WEB?
With boxes full of souvenirs and pictures with which to reminisce?
With so much to learn, boredom would be the brain idling when it has places to go.