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Listen to me singing (RealAudio.) Monday, June 16, 1997 10:58:10 PM Some nights, I have all this energy, or whatever it is. But nothing to say. Well, no, there's lots to say, come to think of it. I just have no interest in saying it. I'm scanning RealAudio stations for something of interest. So many more stations than there used to be. Tonight, with all this inertia to burn, I started transcribing THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL," by William Blake. Blake is good. My kinda guy. I am not through copying it yet. It stops in mid-paragraph at this time. I'll finish it soon, and maybe add some pictures. There is nothing like taking an hour or two to transcribe a great piece of writing to make me realize that I could write the way I'm writing right now (right?) for the rest of my life and never produce anything like that. Not in two hours, not in a thousand hours. In fact, I'm listening right now to an interview (RealAudio) with Philip Glass and wondering how I got to be such a puddlehead. This copy of The Portable Blake is what I call a five-dollar book. If I'm reading a book and find a page which is good, I stick a dollar bill in at that page so I can find it later. I only do this up to 5 times. I do not own very many five-dollar books. In fact, this could be the only one, though it is hard to remember which of my books are fives and which are not even twos; it is sometimes necessary to take back some of those dollars and use them to tip the pizza delivery guy or to blow my nose. One five-dollar book was Gray's Anatomy. All that talk of carpal trapezia and the os magnum had me holding my hand in front of my face for an entire summer during high school. Another five-dollar book is a book of poetry called PICTURES THAT STORM INSIDE MY HEAD. It is a book of sometimes sappy poetry which I bought during grade school, and which I have since carried with me everywhere I have ever moved. It is over there in the hall closet right now. That is a book which has no dollars in it, though. Partly because I don't need to be reminded, but moreso because that book has been within arm's reach when the need for a dollar struck more often than any other book with dollars inside. Tonight, the weather is rainy and humid, I am cranky and tired and looking at my newly-issued New York State Driver License which just arrived in the mail. I am sitting at the table in the living room, fully clothed, looking around inbetween sentences, thinking of phone conversations I had today, thinking of the noisy fans outside, thinking of going downstairs, thinking of doing something else, thinking of going furniture shopping this weekend, car shopping the next weekend, thinking of that song MAKIN' WHOOPIE and how it will not leave my head. It's been going through my mind for the last 5 days, and in singing it aloud I've developed a whole "Theme & Variations" on the tune, complete with a tympani solo, a wind quintet section, a baritone solo. I just yawned so hard it felt like my mouth opened up to my forehead. I sang MAKIN' WHOOPIE in the shower this morning. Sang it at work, until someone asked "What the hell do you keep singing?" Sang it in the elevator. Always wished I'd had girlfriends I could sing to, but any time I start they always get pissed off about it and hit me until I stop. So I don't sing to them any more, and they don't ask. It is almost time for bed. I am tired of sitting here and typing. Feel like standing up, lying down, rolling around and laughing. Or maybe just rolling around would suffice. Spent enough time today laughing at myself singing MAKIN' WHOOPIE all day today, yesterday, Saturday, Friday, Thursday. All those days lolling around in that silly song. Singing it out on the street, on the train, in Important Meetings. But Blake. This might be the best stanza from MAKIN' WHOOPIE, I mean THE EVERLASTING GOSPEL:
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