by Ralph Dumain

I want to discipline myself to work, and I work but mostly I overflow with thoughts, sometimes with emotions. One thing after another I work even when I want to get out of the house. So I stay put I'm still in my pajamas—never got dressed, never left the house, intensive in this stream of consciousness, messages, essays, reports, poems, reviews, summaries, bibliographies, notes. Spewing forth fields from umpteen hundreds of records from databases. Of the rearrangement of data there is no end. How many friends can you talk to on the phone when they live their own lives too? How many long distance calls? How many messages on answering machines? How many letters? How many e-mail messages? I write faster than they can all answer. My old friends from childhood, my intellectual comrades, my new friends across the land. Input, input, I crave input!

Who am I careening across the screen? Evanescent pixels suck out my life blood. I stay erect all day and remain unsatisfied.

Give me some notes! Give me lyrics like lambs to graze across my fertile brain, grunting joyful noises with renewed innocence.

I just had to shout. I had to pee. I came out of my face.

Like Charlie Chaplin in The Circus, I made you laugh so you could taste the tears of infinity. With divine absurdity I wove thick carpets of seriousness for you to track your mud across. Now rest the buttocks of your brain on the overstuffed chair of my epistemology. Set a spell.

Y'all come back now, hear?


(*) title of an old blues song

Written 5 Feb. 1994 9:30 pm EST
© 1994, 2001 Ralph Dumain

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Uploaded 5 April 2001

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