insects chirp in the back reminding me of a summer that once made me smile.
can't wait to watch, rope and pull in the stars on a porch with warm air on my neck and people changing lanes.
if i were to move past the memory, just to be convenient, i would break the glass that holds the liquid.
shattering and dripping, the cool liquid runs down the veins of complication.
i promised my father i would live with integrity, and would not fail him.
such a tough task for a boy wanting to be a man and dream--at the same time.

"an artificial heart" was performed on stage in the summer 1861, just outside of little britain. in 1982 the script to the play was found in the gutter, along with a pages of volume III of "great expectations", a tobacco pipe, a set of half used matches and a note. what was contained in the note was difficult to make out, but is transcribed at the end of the script as the way it appeared when found in 1982.

(act I)
when i awoke this morning a strange cloud seemed to hover over my head. and every destination that i arrived at, the cloud (which was dark and thick and blue and gray and powerful and intoxicating and, and) would stare at me, with eyes of revenge. this is how i interpreted it. when i curled up to read a book, the cloud mimicked my motions with a sneer of eloquence, well knowing what i had gotten myself into. somewhere inside of me is a hope for a yellow sun to fall into my path.

(act II)
breaking away from waves of nourishment is not easy. i encourage you, my dear friends, to try and do so. i am in this process as i write, so if i fall and sink under water, please understand and don't hold my lack of experience against me. mother nature mother nurture i cannot understand you. what i wish to have for my own, has never been so misunderstood. and adontwstlosevgpqasightmnbofuotastheflkjsdfllighthousekjigwhenvqflknwis--the water is cold. next time i go for a swim, i plan on wearing what they call a "life vest".

(act III)
i set fire to my briefcase this afternoon. i couldn't walk any further. i considered it a retaliation to events that preceded this afternoon's abrupt change of heart. the path that i expected to once become filled with golden rays has deceived me, fire resembled my dream so it made due (and due well). most didn't find the idea of flame fitting. i disagree.

(act IV)
i was supposed to get my thoughts of her out in four weeks. this, my friends, has not happened.

end (curtain).

*note: i m h ble actor, so if one ou could ta e m y w r s and bring them to life, would a re iate ths tremend . if ac ing is not yo r forte, i nvit yo (n ble one) to f ll w w it p a d pad i n h nd (but don't make me aware of your being there).

what's this? a personal critique my friends...come one, come all.
sometime early in the morning of december twenty nine year two thousand two (when bad poetry is all that is possible):

whether its kissing or dancing
over wine and old friends
i hope in the end
the decision isn't left up to chance (ah, but it isn't jonathan)

i could write them words to
describe my emotions
but at this moment
silence best conveys my state

so between me and this ink (you're still talking)
we'll go to bed early
and let the page do the dance

and drive in our sleep
to an old midwestern town (goodnight david moore)

and lay in the lap
of the reality of change

and sing to the music
while breathing in nothing (what about crying?)

and wake in the morning
to a cold that keeps me from
writing

please turn out the lights
i'm too tired to think now.

*take note! writers and readers: your best writing does not come at the most intense time of your life.

early one evening and what came of it (after spending the afternoon with chloe):

as i made my way eastward towards the rising moon on franklin avenue, i noticed up ahead of me two young bodies walking in unison. their strides matched their attitudes, and with each step they took together it appeared as if they were in fact learning to walk for the first time. their walking wasn't clumsly, for, neither of them fell upon one another nor did they seem to be struggling with the process of passing messages down to their legs via neurons, each within their own bodies. i came to observe the child like steps from a different perspective; that these two young bodies were not only fascinated by the movement of the legs, but were also captivated and charmed by the prospect of getting from one place to another on their own terms--and doing it rather easily! i began to pick up my pace to catch up to this rather intriuging young couple. as i moved in on the two, as if were to capture them for further study, i began to feel the sidewalk which was covered in a dense snow, shift and move, elevate, and then begin to raise me above the two walking in stride--to observe. i didn't feel like god. because god doesn't feel lonely. but if he does, then i guess i did feel like god at that moment, but what i also felt, narrated across the february winter skies: "if there's one thing i'm incapable of now, it's conversing with completeness. i have no idea what to say, and i have no reason to speak to it. i want nothing from it. i have no proposition to make. yet, i feel a lonely life closes me in, cuts me off, and i want to escape...the prospect of happiness opening indefinately before me, sobers me. i find myself missing that completeness, not so long ago, when i too could experience the pangs of anticipation. i dream of life made only of first loves and lasting loves. i want the impossible, i know. i envy no one. and when i see lovers, i think less of me and what i was, than of them, and what they will become. but these passing lovers, are simply an extension of my love for life. they enrich the beauty of life, and share it in return. the lovers insure the world's beauty, and vice versa. when i'm allowed to gaze at the walking couple, i view all of life." i then fell to the earth as the laws of gravity did their justice, regained my composure and entered a tall building with wooded doors to take a nap and prepare for later that evening.

in the changer: pretty girls make graves "good health"

unidentified indignant radio host, london, february 1980:

tonite, as you fall into what always seems to be an endless sleep, please dream about the short silent movies of the 1920s. my dear friend and filmmaker, zachary david campbell was uproariously comic as a dapper man of the world who is a magnet for bad luck. after hearing his voice this cold afternoon in february (zachary called from his basement room filled with stenches of french gin and hash in the heart of grenoble) i remembered when doors slammed on his fingers, bees stung him on the neck, statues fell on his toes, but again and again he would shrug off his misfortunes and continue on his way. zachary's pranks, pratfalls and double takes, his signature gestures, are so vivid that any listener should begin to believe that he and his films of the 1920s really exist instead of being creations through these airwaves. zachary is the heart of a film we'll title "illusion," which happens to take place in two time zones. in the present there is myself, an anguished academic, who has appeared as a character in many of the early silents of the 20s. in one, my character, pulls himself out of his depression when he accidentally discovers zachary's films and writes about them in a newsletter widely distributed throughout the bile infested streets of industrial london. but its in "illusion" that zachary bubbled up from some dark, unconscious cavern. one day there was zachary, and then he disappeared. that disappearance is central to the mystery of the film, a flash flame followed by a void, and zachary becomes a footnote in hollywood history. nearly sixty years later, i learned that zachary was alive and had secretly made a series of highly personal films. a daunting task, to try and make a listener experience what they heard as a film, not as a description of a film. when i found zachary, he had taken an interest in his own films, but also delighted in watching movie pictures of chaplin and laurel and hardy-and buster keaton, who he discovered when he first began his career. in his next film to be released later this month, he at first thought he might include all his late films. but he decided to reduce it to one, "the inner life of jonathan mcglone," a metaphysical mystery, in which the title character destroys a manuscript to save the life of his muse.

in the changer: beth orton "daybreaker"
evening read: alfred lord tennyson "the lotus-eaters" & "ulysses"

astronomical observation no. one: movement without moving.

if i were to sit in my desk chair for an entire sidereal day without moving, shouldn't i become dizzy as the earth rotates around its axis and rotates around the sun? because that's a lot of movement.

new york times...february 10, 2013...page C1

the new head of a regulatory body usually takes over an operation that is up and running. the appointee can decide what issues to pursue in setting an agenda for the agency.
for jonathan mcglone, who named himself on monday morning to head the new public company oversight board, the reverse is true. he and his four collegues will have to decide the most basic matters, ranging from where the board will live to how it will function. they must also hire a staff that will no doubt be sizeable.
but the issues on mcglone's agenda are set by law, and some of them are highly charged in the current atmosphere. as it begins, the board must decide the extent to which it is willing to simply continue with rules on the conduct of public relations that already exist. it will deal with the question of whether to further restrict consulting activities by visiting firms.
it also needs to set up a mechanism to review the quality of relations and to discipline those who relate within the company. the law calls for the board's staff to review actual relations in determining whether a public relations firm has met its professional responsibilities.
all those decisions will be made in an atmosphere tinged with politics and suspicion. many in the public relations profession were insulted by the very decision to create the board, and fear that it will be unreasonably tough. but many of those who pushed for a tough law fear that the board will be too willing to listen to the public relation industry's leaders. those tensions were reflected in the bitter division of members of the securities and exchange commission in appointing mr. mcglone.
mr. mcglone issued a statement this afternoon, stating, "our job here is to relate to people. it seems that we have violated some laws, and i personally have broken some hearts. to those i have hurt, i'm sorry. me and my collegues will meet and try and clean things up, in the future, you can hope to see a better understanding from our company of how to relate with the public," mcglone made all these statements with a stern face, cigarette in mouth, blur on the stereo, and was escorted by his collegues to his astronomy class. mcglone is 30 years old and considered "foolish", and sometimes "funny" by some of his friends and enemies in the public relations industry.

the horns of the moon point away from the sun, which has not yet risen...until:

i find myself free. free to make the choices that i couldn't make and the choices that i have dreamed of making. i once thought that everything that went through the inner workings of my mind would actually come of age. but as the guard passed me, i found my head in my hands in a cold cell where i've been trapped for the last six and half years. the subconscious is a funny man (or woman, whatever your preferance will be at this moment) who revels in playing nasty tricks on me because there is nothing i can do but pretend to be okay. and last night i dreamed about the horns of the waning crescent moon and what it would be like to spend time on it. my jolly friend christopher (who isn't always so jolly) joined my side and we made our rounds while the cosmos continued to crack. christopher didn't mumble a word until reaching the tip of the crescented moon. he spoke: "tip toe with me now while time twinkles into rhyme wrinkles with beats so low your big toe crinkles tip toe...like so," and walked off the edge of the moon without hesitation (he's been known to do this quite often). i was not surprised nor confused. i was still in my cell, christopher roamed the expanse free. free to make the choices the i couldn't make and the choices that i have dreamed of making. the beautiful bastard. catastasis: christopher (in absentia) will unlock my steel cell as soon as i return (in my conscious) to the catacombs we like to call "canton, michigan."


in the changer: 90 day men "to everybody:"
in my viewfinder: wong kar wai "in the mood for love"

a miller and milkman...two guards...a priest...and a child walked into a bar...and they all see:

the future of television has finally arrived-really. now begins the haggling over who gets control, and negotiating with the highest stakes are taking place inside my head.
under fierce competition from satellite services, my mind's cable division is racing to sell new features that give viewers more control over what and when they watch. its new digital services can let subscribers order any of an array of films and network programs whenever they want and even turn set-up boxes into personal digital video recorders that make it easy for viewers to fast-forward through commercials.
my mind had begun offering the services in a number of cities the last several months, and this spring it is making movies and some network programs available on demand in grand rapids, its biggest market.
but as my mind promotes the services-especially the on that can skip commercials-its plans are colliding with the interests of networks and studios, which own the rights to the most popular shows. both live off programming schedules and advertising sales. at many, including my mind's own broadcasting divisions, executives consider the idea of skipping the commercials to be a threat.
the negotiations among divisions of my mind are part of the early rounds of a broader contest over television that is unfolding as satellite and cable companies haggle with networks and studios. the satellite and cable companies say they are giving viewers what they want, but networks and studios sometimes feel they are being robbed.
my mind is moving faster than any other cable company.



in the changer: spoon "kill the moonlight"
in my hands: oscar hijuelos "mambo kings play songs of love"