May I pray will stay

5:45 a.m. this first day of May, not light yet...

Kitchen window wide open breathing Spring and Shang-ri-la. Say, yeah. It goes outside to the whole wide world, air, land and sea.

The temperature right now is 'no temperature', to me.

All the chairs are broken except this one. It still has the foam backing in its metal frame.

Lean back and light this smoke and recollect. Dylan sings "I am hanging in the balance of a perfect finished plan". (Or is it "the reality of man"?)

When I shuffle off this doubting mortal coil I'll fly to heaven and recover from this doleful amnesia: God is too great, He is, He IS! A magnificient recollection that is so stunning we sing joyously forever, praising creation.

And think, "I knew that. How did I forget?" And in forgetting, all ready again to absorb.

I used to wonder if babies dropped from heaven into life, "a little lower than the angels", were fully aware of what they had, and now what they were in for. Good reason to squall for a year.

And if there's reincarnation and yours is a second-go for getting it wrong the first time, maybe your first truly waking thought is a curse. Maybe you go : AH ! GODDAMMIT!

...And there's your original sin already. Tch.
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I uttered the most ungrateful, pessimistic assesment to my mother the other day. I said, "We wait ten months for these two months". She said, no, it's more like six months for six months. And yes, for six months it's no Garden Of Eden. Really, we settled in the wrong climate, she conceded about our great-greats. At the gateway to the West in St. Louis, what you do is turn left and keep going, by steam-boat to New Orleans.

But ah well oh my it's lovely isn't it.
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Now what have I been up to lately, I can record here. Something is a pity, too, but I can't recall, trying as hard as I can, what- what- what. I'm squinting, trying to remember what's sad. Rubbing my temples. Think, man, think!

Murf the Surf walks by just now muttering about bluebirds. I call him back, I'm curious to witness this fugue. He is a day-sleeper and a sleep walker, Monday through Friday, or Sunday through Thursday, I don't know. He says they are the state bird, John, they're finches I think but it's rare you ever see one. They're finches, yeah.

Ok move along.

I will write like I talk lately.