2002-01-06-9:12 a.m.

I wrote this a couple of days ago:

Counter Clockwise.

I go on knowing life lives while I struggle to compose the simplest of poems. I write my will against the spinning of time. Walking down the up escalator. Composing a song from the end to the beginning. Chord by chord, note by note, spinning the record backward to the beginning as the motor of the turntable burns against me. Thoughts race through my mind as my feet stay still.

Such is my mindset. Everything that happens is reasoned by fate. Destiny’s hand placed firmly on my shoulder as he reads from his book of what comes next. Playfully I plug my ears and stick out my tongue and scream, "I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you..."

Now as the winter has set into it’s slow, gentle pace of cold and snow. I think to spring and summer and autumn ahead and try to course my ship to follow. Alas, I fall back into memories of seasons past, and give into the memories. Winter is not a good season for decisiveness, as the gray skies parallel the muddle-headed me. The only capable decision I can make is how much sugar and milk to put in my cowboy coffee. Nothing better than a caffeine jolt to make a worried mind active.

So I sit and write and sigh and hope and pray and wish and dream and carry on my day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second. Writing to my heart's content, looking out my window, trying to place the sun and moon in cloud covered skies. Visualizing leaves on trees, rainbow sprinklers, laughing children, singing birds. As I think backward to the beginning from the end. As life living forward meets me in the middle of my song, and pushes me to turn around.

I contemplate what I’ve just written, take a sip of joe, stare out the window, and wonder what to do with the rest of my day.

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