To Write

I can hardly believe it myself. I blew the morning on another extended wank session. The laptop even binged me, notifying me that the battery was going dead; it had been a long time since that happened. And this is after yesterday’s long wank. Is this actually getting worse?

I am feeling really crammed in for time. I want to take advantage of Pop’s absence. I want to wash my socks and scrub my shower doors, and I still haven’t finished putting away yesterday’s groceries. Aside from these chores, there is also the question of my writing. I was getting back in the swing of my dialogues, bringing Pi and Daimon back, but even these anemic exchanges require more time and imagination than I may really care to give, as I think I would do better focusing on my Three Journal, and my little chats with my imaginary friends crowd that out. The thing is, though, I feel better when I write, and I mean, write! Most of my work on the Three Journal entails editing and copy-pasting, and as much as I like the result, it seems to starve some part of my soul. I am taking care of that now with this little verbal explosion - just going at it, without trying to imagine a dialogue. It feels good just to spew these words, in all their free-flowing vapidity. I guess I don’t want to have to think too hard.

“That would kind of limit your writing, though, no? I mean, to write without much thinking.”

I know. It does seem absurd. This probably accounts for why I never write anything that is truly worthwhile. I guess I just need to get stuff out - cleanse my mucky build-up of emotions and perceptions - and I just lack the capacity to put a lot into it so that it might take off and live beyond my diary pages. I guess I just don’t really have the brain for it and never truly had the talent.

Three Journal

Working on my Three Journal, I felt moved to go back and hit my first posts in the blogosphere. I did not do that originally because I was anxious to get some journal entries up on my e-life with the gals, and so I skipped ahead. Now that I got quite a bit of that material up, I feel like going back a few months to the very beginning of my blurty days, to March of 2003, when I got my second wind in life. It was a very special time for me. I felt very writerly again. And it feels good to revisit that material and live through those days again. My life felt renewed, and I don’t suppose that will ever happen again. I was only 37 then, and I am going to be 48 in a few months. We are fresh out of new beginnings and start-overs. Now it is just a matter of finishing up.

The Moth

Washing my socks, I check the filter on the dryer when a moth flutters out. That’s a first. It was kind of neat. It would have been much worse if a cockroach jumped out.

Alexander Hamilton

We have a note on Hamilton successfully establishing the Bank of the United States in the teeth of the raging controversy that was stormed up. The selling of government securities and the opening of financial speculation was the open door through which corruption would flow into the simple republic.

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Jefferson brooded about the harm to America’s moral fiber: “The spirit of gaming, once it has seized a subject, is incurable. The tailor who has made thousands in one day, though he has lost them the next, can never again be content with the slow and moderate earnings of his needle.” Benjamin Rush reported the same money-mad bustle in Philadelphia. Everybody from merchants to clerks was forsaking everyday duties to wager on scrip: “The city of Philadelphia for several days has exhibited the marks of a great gaming house…. Never did I see so universal a frenzy. Nothing else was spoken of but scrip in all companies, even by those who were not interested in it.” Senator Rufus King later told Hamilton that New York City’s economy had ground to a halt as people rushed off to gamble in bank shares: “The business was going on in a most alarming manner, mechanics deserting their shops, shopkeepers sending their goods to auction, and not a few of our merchants neglecting the regular and profitable commerce of the City.”

-- Ron Chernow, “Alexander Hamilton”

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