Blank Book
(1990)
Yet another blank book. Who gave it to me this time? To draw? To write?
That is the question. To take creative risks. My greatest risk may be to open
this book and mar a blank page, to change the pristine quality of it. I can do
as I please. Sky can appear overhead, visions of old women rocking in nursing
homes, drooling over teddy bears. Anything at all. The flashing numbers of
trades on the stock exchange I watched from the broker’s floor. The scallops I
ate for dinner afterwards. All of it part of the flow of one life that I cannot
seem to capture in a character or form to share with others. Today I do not
mind. I have filled a page!
Some books are never published.
Some books should never have been published.
BEWARE!
It’s odd to think of inhabiting a womb. The one I
inhabited had four occupants. One was born dead…
1/13/90
Dear Mikail Gorbachev,
abcdefghijklmnopqurstuvwxqz
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 l2 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
22 23 24 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 34 35
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
#+X
36 37 38 39
40
41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53
Lithuania may be the downfall.
Or will you get a Nobel peace prize?
54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66
Nelson Mandela will soon be released
67 68 69 70. He is 71 now and has been
in prison in South Africa for 25 years.
Winnie has waited. 72 73 74 75 76
77 78 79 80 81 82 83 My mother is
83. She is paralyzed on one side after a
stroke. 84 85 86 87 88 89 90. It’s odd
to think my sister and I shared a womb.
91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99
Yours truly,
100
p.s. Blank books may turn out to be dangerous.
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