Dynamic Stationery.

Am getting back to my old habit of actually writing letters.  Am ashamed to not have responded to a long one (30 pages) from a long-standing friend who I hope to meet one day in real life.  Anyway - letter-writing paper's in short supply and can cost a fortune for a large letter-writer. 

Decided to tinker with some printer paper and an old set of watercolors to start towards getting to speed with my girlfriend from Away.  I think that I have packed away in the boxes down below, both a paper cutter and some better quality than the copier stuff that we run through the printer.

Kind of like my results.

Sometime this week, my blog turns six and my cranky medicated cat turns 16. Funny how time flies.

Dispatch #5:

"Got your letter the other day - thank you!!! Unfortunately, you're going to have to work harder on the 'crazy, incoherent' part, because I understood everything you had to say. To answer your question: Bachelors is in French Lit. I want to get a translation degree which is a Masters in the US, but more like a Bachelors in France. We'll see. If you can get an actual Bible in the library, that would be good. There're some awesome stores there...write when you can. I understand. Happy Easter!"

Personally I love puns, and I love them precisely because of how fleeting the humor is. One has just enough time to groan a bit, maybe shake one's head before moving on. Often, that's all one needs.

Yes, and today's history lecture was on the dawn of the 14th century. Namely, the Black Death.

Wednesday is going to prove to be just as cheery, as the focus will be on the Hundred Years War.

(American History: I'm between two depressions. Love Teddy Roosevelt, though I can tell that Hofstadter couldn't stand him and really tried to push the notion that he suffered from Little Wiener syndrome. Not too nuts about FDR.)

Am still trying to decide whether I have a cold or allergies. Maybe it was a cold, after all. The glands on my neck are swollen, I'm tired all the time as well. Concentration's tough; it feels as though my head's stuffed with packing peanuts.

Am almost finished with my Gilded Age paper; talked my way through it with my Dad. Dad's a pretty major history buff and helped clarify things, point out stuff I left out, etc.

It's not writer's block that is getting to me. Rather, the fact that I always end up with twice what I need information and word-wise to complete the assignment. Cutting always feels bad, but what else can one do?

Gosh, I enjoy this.

What's with all these classes?

Enrolled myself at Bunker Hill to take some writing-intensive courses, as it's been a dog's life since I'd done anything serious in that area. I mean, blogging's nice and everything. However, it's not very heavy stuff compared to what I had to produce back when I was a student.

Since I'm thinking that I'd like to go back to school, figured it might be nice to pick something I thought I'd enjoy in order to get the feet wet again (finished undergrad 15 years ago. Took my last literature courses like 10 years ago). Since literature/fine-arts were my specialties in the other life, didn't really want to take anything in those areas. Decided instead to focus on stuff I'd always wanted to take in school but never had the occasion to try, namely History or Economics.

Started with the External Study Department's American History I. Am currently enrolled in American History II and Western Civilization I (drive by version - we're covering some ridiculous amount of time - Biblical times to the Renaissance). Am so pleased with how supportive the administration and the instructors are. Am also impressed both with how interesting the materials are and how challenging the work is. In all, am amazed at what I'm getting for relatively little money in the scheme of things. Tuition's amazingly cheap compared other schools in the area, UMass Boston included.

If I'm around in the Fall (and that's a big IF. I'll go on about that later as stuff becomes less vague and I get over my fear of jinxing things), I'd like to take the second part of the Western Civilization course. We'll see.

Just got the grade back from the last class. Did pretty well, considering I threw the last paper and was given (what I think to be) a symbolic fail grade on it*. Had that coming, though, as the work I submitted was hateful and awful and only done to complete the requirement. It was funny, as, all it had written on it by way of commentary was "where are your words??"**

Now, to finish up the other two classes I had to get extensions on.

***

* Got an A-.

** Had two options for the subject and I chose wrong. After reading Hofstadter's take on John Calhoun, I grew to detest the man greatly because he reminded me too much of bad stuff now. Also, I found myself getting too obsessed over his thesis on class struggle and his solutions to that problem vs that pushed by marxists/socialists. Would much rather have read more and written about that. However, it wasn't the time for talks about slavery and collectivism and the creation/denial of certain symbols for the workers in either system. I also neither had the time nor the inclination to come up with some more appropriate BS (how BSing causes me such anguish now!), so just produced a truncated, dully-written bit of disappointing to me (and to the professor, apparentlty) garbage to hand in. As I'm taking another course with the same fellow, am thinking of writing a little followup just for laughs and hand it in with my current assignment. We'll see.

"Cela est bien dit," répondit Candide,

"Mais il faut cultiver notre jardin."



Last summer's roses.

8 Count

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.

-Charles Bukowski

***

Poetry Month this year started off as a sort of hymn to Spring. Now, it appears to be turning more towards depression (specifically mine).

My shrinks have always suggested that I keep a journal of sorts. I was never able to, though, as thinking about and trying to communicate in words how I felt would put me in a rotten(er) mood. I always worried, too, about sounding like the paradoxalist in Notes from Underground.

In this format, things seem to be different. Letting other people speak for me helps. Maybe the rhythm of the arranged words helps soothe me. There's also the thought that I'm not alone in this that helps as well. Don't know. Anyway, for the moment, it's flowing well.

The Peanuts

by Charles Bukowski.

My dad rocks.