26 10 04 – Moleskine notebook.
Days Pass again. But I have seen another end to pieces I’ve created as though Keylime were the motivating factor. Still, between the tourists like myself I feel no force that joins us unless content is a new force of nature. Can you believe, faithful black book, that I’m in KW. A sudden arrival it has been and when I sat next to another foreigner with a T-shirt saying: I can see dead people, I was propelled to make sure he knew he could see me. But the gist quickly subsided as a catamaran wished by blowing it’s horn and when I looked to it felt sorry for the tourist who paid for the sightseeing and had to raise its mainsail. The first hours in the confused American Caribbean left me with yet another bitter taste. It is the aftermath of a life of consumption that has been forced upon me. Completely stuffed, like a Thanksgiving dinner, the waiting sunset my digestive, I can think of nothing but compulsion as I watch the stingy street artists in their over zealous and lost fixations to be something they are not. I suppose it is all part of the bitterness I feel when I place myself in the holds of America. It is the other, the my, compulsion I cannot avoid. Yet the smarts of Hemingway’s bar or beaches or boats is not enough to fight back what I feel. And feelings are amass in this time and space between Disney reality and American Tom – Tom foolery. So here IM. Lost in the arms of another magnificent love and I can’t figure for the life of me what to do with it.