I used to have a day planner that I kept forgetting to write any day-planning in. But it was a cool planner — with a “travel” theme, so it had pictures of vintage travel posters, exerpts from the Odyssey and photographs of famous explorers. I took the planner on trips with me for inspiration to write random stuff. There was an article in the Post today about the Greyhound station in D.C., and it made me remember this notebook, because I had it with me on bus trips from D.C. during the summer of 2001. Here are some snippets, written while traveling with Amanda on a weekend trip to Boston and NYC.
Scrawled across the squares of June 18-24, 2001:
-Do you have to be able to draw to photograph?
-Does the sickness unto death ever go away?
-Is the answer in God? Some find it in monsters.
-Alienation makes you a Hell’s Angel or a hypocrite like me.
-What do I do — to buy coffee. For justice. My slave chocolate and slave coffee are breaking my bank.
-What do I need? What do YOU need? And if I still want it tho I don’t have it am I still a minimalist?
I am home in Washington, DC.
Start the long road home, I said a year ago on a plane, suffocating in freedom
(It was not my water, I was a fish)
Across July 9-15:
“Ladies and gentlemen when you are finished placing your luggage in the overhead compartments please close the compartments so passengers do not bump their heads and we have to delay this train for emergency purposes.” — Train from NYC to DC
On an unusual passenger who sat next to me on a five-hour bus trip:
man searching pockets
stones colored green
clicking in his palm
smells of stale subway concrete
fingernails, dirt, dress shirt cuff dust
three hats, three bottle of water
milky water, living water
“Spirit of Life” water
bottled June 18th, good until 2003
palm to face
and baptize (?)
what is a bath?
i urgently feel for my stones
my pieces of earth from reston, normandy, padova
blue of ballpoint ink
bled sometime in my backpack.
over my stones i worry fingers
a secret palmed. fist.
secure, we are the same
clicking our stones
on a bus to boston
sir, where have you been?
a holy water bath.