Recurring Self

Fall 2003

Two hours a day was spent writing in my journal back in 2003. I remind myself now I have the time to do that again.

The following is a remix of 2003 journals annotated with my 2024 eternal recurring self rereading the product of copious journal entries.  What is your smell now in 2024 I ask 2003?  Is it still cherry chocolate, or mint verbena tea served with a lemon tart?

2003:  What is your relation to 2024?

2024:  The same as 2034.

2003:  Then what is our relation to each other?

2024:  You really want to know?

2003:  OK.  That bad?

2024.  The gig is up as my Great Grandfather said on his deathbed.  But you did have a science radio show covering climate change in 2003 on KGNU ……the big one that took you and many others by surprise with your interview of Lester R. Brown which he graciously granted while visiting Boulder, CO. During it he predicted that we will start seeing epic weather events as a result of climate change.  (In 2003, Brown launched the Plan B initiative to promote drastically reduced carbon emissions, among other goals. )

2003:  These are your smells, folded into the seam of a green feather hat, seams spreading out from your right hip, crawling up into your calves, spewing something out of the hairy mole on your chin.

2024: I’ve never seen hair in my mole - !

2003:  But it is felt in your gaze as you look back on me in 2024 with your sand paper skin, why do you tend to draw musk out of your past?

2024:  Patchouli is what I wore back in your day - lots of essential oils lathered. I’ve dialed this in starting a lavender garden in the back yard by the pond in 2006 on my first Mother's Day.

2003:  Yes, and you wore a heavy hand of Patchouli as I recall, you had to throw out your entire wardrobe... remember?  That is a shame, lavender would have been better, 18 years is a long time to wait.

2024: Well, why have you never told me?

2003: It’s only when you sing in the shower at 7 o’clock in the morning that you can know these things. Ah you never did, that is shower at 7am, but you did sing, very off key.

2024: Did you know poets are making a comeback, mostly via social media?

2003:  I’ve always proposed a writers union for Poets, to write the poems so they can be written, a profession usurped by the academics who have lost their way. Good to know poets are out from under the Academcis thumb.

2024:  Poetry is sitting with a wide stance, shoulders upright, legs wide, taking up as much space as possible. When standing, hips torque, and the best part she paints a beard on her face, has chutzpah, and never smells too floral, more musky.

Other tidbits found

Fall 2003 The old man smears his wit. (Above painting is an abstract of an old man smeared with crimson….being engulfed in the loneliness of old age.)

The old man paints his book covers in a varnish tinted with his blood.  The crimson of isolation must be exposed, circulated.  It helps him feel less alone, telling his story.  The deeper the cut, the more severe his loneliness.  He works deliberately.  Brushing the human stain across from left to right, a smear of his wit.  No need to hurry, easy does it.  Each stroke must have personality.  Develop voice. He pours strong coffee into his dark stained mug.  Waits for the music to resume from under the hickory tree.

Fall 2003 Europe is growing in my home

I’ve planted a European garden inside the living room, near the window with no curtains, at the corner by the stone copper fountain, to smell Europe scattering its cafe scent throughout the house.  Offering its promise of small neighborhoods, no need to drive, I sip cappuccino and discuss Nietzche’s eternal recurrence.  We will always kiss on both sides of the face here, wear boots all year long, and carry a folded up newspaper in canvas shopping bags, full of flowers, and fresh baked baguettes.  But mostly Europe is growing through my windows so we can have health care and opera.