Clutter and confusion. I can't seem to make sense of things. Can't write, can't photograph. I've been going through my files. My mind is a mess. I'm certain a Spring Cleaning is in the offing. The weather is too hot here too early. I'm working on stories I'm not sure I can tell.
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
etc.
'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'
I think we are in rats' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
etc.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
(from T.S. Eliot's, "The Waste Land")
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