How My Day Goes …

Yeah, so I thought I was going to stay in the South, and I even ordered my Internet for my place there – but you know how those Greeks are, with their crazy sense of time, so a month passed, and I still didn’t have my modem and I had to go to Athens, to take care of some business and do some shopping, before I head South again, but you know, I’m just crazy about Athens, and when I took the bus this morning to go to Syntagma (Constitution Square) turns out, the bus didn’t stop there, and headed North or South or East or West of there – How should I know where I was? but wasn’t sure, cause my navigation skills, they suck, you know, and the Sun was straight above me, so I jumped off the bus, reversed gears — and just happened to catch The Changing Of The Guard — The Evzones –– and I hit the Shoot Video Button on my iPhone, and I felt fabulously fortuitous, to catch these warriors march with such precision and grace, on the last leg of their journey, til it was time for them to return, cause if I hadn’t taken the wrong bus, and had ended up in Syntagma, as I had planned, I would’ve missed one of those moments that totally compel you to go higher, reach farther into the blue sky, yes, mere symbols, I know, but still, sometimes that’s how things go. 

When There’s A Lot Activity Up There …

You know what I’m talking about, right? UP there. And you’re trying to communicate with someone – in print – and the wheels are simply too busy to pause, to examine what you’re actually putting down on paper – or in message, on social media – and you come out saying something that could puzzle someone, have them scratching their head, as to your true intentions, question your sincerity, thinking, well, which one is it? – Does she plan to celebrate my recovery or my death? – that, kind of shit, cause you’ve already composed the line, it’s embedded firmly in your memory, it’s as solid as a block from the sheet of the pyramids, but you know, your mind likes messing around with you, and it hops and it skips and flips forwards and backwards and plucks and hides and erases shit, making monumental omissions when attempting to communicate with the outer world, dropping words, thoughts, pushing them into the deep and dark zone of zeros and ones. 

And you stupidly correct yourself …

“I don’t know about you, but I plan to celebrate your recovery – not mourn your death.”

But you gotta give yourself some slack, cause it’s almost Sunday, and you desperately need a break from your head. 

Conversations With My Hound … About Brooms, Motorcycles, Witches, And Caffeine 


How many times have I told you not to bark at Black Motorcycles?

How many?


“Leave the fucking broom alone!  I need it. It’s my … 


I’m a witch!”


“I know. I know. I’ve got to unpack. I get it. Thank you.”


“OMG. The World Fell Asleep! TELL it to wake-up!  Now. I got buses to catch, papers to collect!”


“I can’t deal with these formatting issues anymore. I can’t. They’re driving me mad! Talk to them.”


“TOO fucking early to talk about anything. No more barking!”

Drifting Backwards … To Antiquity … With My Dog

It is not difficult for me to go there alone. It’s a natural place for me to be. But imagine my surprise when this lovely little dog crossed my path, abandoned by a human, and I snatched him up, took him home … Little did I know our tastes would match so splendidly. 

It was one morning along our lengthy walks – not knowing where we were headed, but following his lead, anyhow – that I realized just how perfectly we were tuned to the pitch and frequency of one another.  

We drifted into the Past …

He was determined to wait for the performance to begin. But who among the ancients would capture us with the beauty they provoked? Would it be Aeschylus, Euripides, or Sophocles? Or would it be Aristophanes?  
He patiently sat …  

In the Shadow of Antiquity. 

But it was hot. And eventually I persuaded him it was time to leave these ancient shores, let them sleep  – perhaps another day, they would grace with their poetry. And being a hound whose lineage reaches into antiquity, he understood, and took shelter in the shade, but determined to stay, nonetheless, and wait, as you shall see. 

CHARIS … The Hellenic Hound of Antiquity

 Jobs For Hungry Poets … (Work Week)

Monday …


Tuesday …


Wednesday …

Get Fuel. 

Thursday …


Friday …


Nomenclatures … Fantasies

Useless Fantasies … Useful Fantasies … Bizarre Fantasies … Unconscious Fantasies … Functional Fantasies … Provocative Fantasies … Dumb Fantasies … Buried Fantasies … Mirror Fantasies … Horrible Fantasies … Sick Fantasies … Love Fantasies … Disturbing Fantasies … WordPress Fantasies … Alpha Fantasies … Omega Fantasies … Infinite Fantasies … Earthbound Fantasies … Spellcheck Fantasies … Artistic Fantasies … Mundane Fantasies … Ethereal Fantasies … Simple Fantasies … Complex Fantasies … Dream Fantasies, Water Fantasies … Pillow Fantasies … Flying Fantasies … Shipping Fantasies … Precision Fantasies … Mathematical Fantasies … Obtuse Fantasies … Geometric Fantasies … Divine Fantasies … Lazy Fantasies … Sleepy Fantasies … Tense Fantasies … Anxious Fantasies … Dramatic Fantasies … Dark Fantasies … Jolly Fantasies … Numb Fantasies … Pathetic Fantasies … Romantic Fantasies … Ideal Fantasies … Hungry Fantasies … Picky Fantasies … Dead Fantasies … Recalcitrant Fantasies … Fussy Fantasies … Angry Fantasies … Couch Fantasies … Psychotic Fantasies … Depressed Fantasies … Euphoric Fantasies … Lame Fantasies … Neurotic Fantasies … Still Fantasies … Imaginative Fantasies … Telephone Fantasies … Eye Fantasies … Rage Fantasies … Sublime Fantasies … Ink Fantasies  … Master Fantasies … I Told You So Fantasies … Prickly Fantasies … Minute Fantasies … Inferior Fantasies … Luscious Fantasies …. Empty Fantasies … Bloated Fantasies … Photogenic Fantasies … Creepy Fantasies … Interior Fantasies … Sceptical Fantasies …  Mythologogical Fantasies … Exterior Fantasies … Broad Fantasies … Small But Charismatic Fantasies … Emaciated Fantasies … Gigantic Fantasies … It’s All Your Fault Fantasies … Brainy Fantasies … Time Out Fantasies … Outta Time Fantasies … Featherweight Fantasies … Thin Fantasies …  I-Fantasies … Fence Fantasies … Free Fantasies …  For Sale Fantasies … Expensive Fantasies … Veiled Fantasies … Cheap Fantasies … Dangerous Fantasies … Sweeping Fantasies … Nickle Fantasies … Basement Fantasies … Upper Fantasies … Gut Fantasies … Informational Fantasies … Sharp Fantasies … Sweet Fantasies … Bitter Fantasies … Lower Fantasies … Mealy Fantasies … Wimpy Fantasies  … Otherworldly Fantasies … Astronomical Fantasies … Urbane Fantasies … Urban Fantasies …  … Light Fantasies … Rural Fantasies … Bucolic Fantasies … Moon Fantasies … Planetary Fantasies … Learning Fantasies …  Disabled Fantasies … Riveting Fantasies … Dirty Fantasies … Sterile Fantasies … Blocked Fantasies … Huge Fantasies … Genteel Fantasies … Fanatical Fantasies … Storm Fantasies … Climatic Fantasies … Unknown Fantasies … Money Fantasies … Chaotic Fantasies … Rigid Fantasies … Mud Fantasies … Burning Fantasies … Cold Fantasies … Blurry Fantasies … Chilling Fantasies … Focused Fantasies …  Blind Fantasies … Paper Fantasies … Shrouded Fantasies … Athletic Fantasies … Victorious Fantasies … Loser Fantasies … Fucked Fantasies … Brutal Fantasies … Aesthetic Fantasies … Feathery Fantasies … Heavenly Fantasies … Angelic Fantasies … Finite Fantasies … God Fantasies … Zero Fantasies. 

Swimming In My Dreams

To say I have a vivid dream life would literally be putting it mildly. Not only is it vivid, but solutions to complex problems – lessons which I have repeatedly failed to learn – are found there instead of … here.

For years, I wrestled with my mother’s death, and the consequences of those battles were disastrous. To document those battles here would be cumbersome, but those I battled through my dreams – although challenging – are far easier to put to ink. 


Simply put, I refused to let my mother die. I continually pulled variations of themes that would bring her to life, and they failed every time. The most popular theme, of course, was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The things I could do with that theme … infinite … and it continued to blossom, as I rearranged and reconfigured my mother in a myriad of ways – most of them gruesome representations of who she had been and what I was doing with who she had been. 

She was not happy and admonished me repeatedly about my futile attempts to revive her. 
The endless surgeries, she said, had manifested hideously on the temporal plane. But still, I would not relent. I created variations and more variations. 

It was with immense relief when I finally borrowed a theme from a nursery rhyme and through which that puzzle was finally solved and shelved. It was over. I was done. I passed the lesson after repeatedly failing to do so. 


We sat (my mother and I) in a pristine laboratory made of stainless steel. I had never been in a more sterile environment. Not a spec of dust lay on the floor. And there I was, ready with my scalpel, to perform yet another incision into a rapidly decaying fantasy, attempting to reach a satisfactory healing of my psyche, where my mother lay. 

The table on which I wanted to put her – also made of stainless steel – remained empty. I searched the laboratory, but there was nothing to find there, no further illusions to spread, consume, yet strangely, it was not hunger that I felt, but the scent of a resolution in my midst. 

She refused, of course, to lay on the table, and walked me round the room until she finally was beyond my reach, sitting on the highest shelf, inches from the ceiling, looking down at me. And that’s where the lesson began and ended, as she brutally killed my fantasy, and lulled me to sleep with a child’s nursery rhyme. 

Oh.  I get it. 

Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall … Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall … And all the King’s Horses and all the King’s couldn’t put Humpty-Dumpty together again. 

Now once again my mother makes her customary return to teach me yet another lesson, which I must learn. But this time I am totally baffled by it. 

… Something about a living arrangement, coupled with lack of sleep, is a dangerous formula for me …

I had to be by the sea, I told her, which I currently am, and a miasma of vague emotions flooded me. I was headed for the sea, I told her, and she looked at me sternly and said to me …

Do you have any idea how many times we’ve pulled you from the sea?

But I don’t recall swimming in the sea before the age of sixteen, I said to her, as I pulled whatever memories of the sea I had as a child, although in later years I knew I had been retrieved repeatedly – much to my annoyance. 

She sighed.  

You mean to tell me that was you?