haptometer

"Each poet should then be represented by a diagram which would indicate the meaning and the symmetry of his metaphoric coordinations, exactly as the diagram of a flower fixes the meaning and the symmetries of its floral actions." Gaston Bachelard Poetics of Space


Sunday:
I wandered around Alameda, I ate sushi, I read Loren Eiseley, I wrote. I notice when I enter restaurants with my aloneness, my books and my notebooks; the wait staff treat me with a sort of deference; as though my solitude carried with it vulnerability. They never rush me, and are hovering on the edges, available. Or maybe they think I’m some sort of food critic, with all my scribbling in my notebook, after thoughtful bites of food. I would like to believe it’s the former.

The cold hearts of this world plunges me into an inescapable sadness. Sometimes I get the feeling that my only friends are: you, books, sleep and alcohol, in that order. I wish my tears could turn into musical notes then I would feel that my crying would be something more than wasted water. Back to submerging myself in books.