Accounts of Storms

Posted on April 5, 2006 in Journals & Notebooks Reflections

From last night, accounts of storms.

The Disease just showed up, hung around, and left while I was sleeping. Who can explain it? It’s more mysterious than Love which is why so many of us write about it, I suppose. Just so I don’t ramp into another mania.

Just now a panic. The rain comes down like a multitude of faucets….

I’m a lamp in the light. A purpose-driven life? The French think we’re crazy. Life is to be survived. Americans are obsessed by the “fix” which [they believe] religion can bring. I had faith and I fell sick.

The rain keeps falling. I entertain no rituals except to lie absolutely still in my bed, my weight on my shoulder, listening to its whistling plummet and smashing halt.