Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Working Notes

What I find to be most difficult about this blogging is just putting down my thoughts. Much more difficult than putting up a poem or photograph, something that I've already worked out, something that sort of had to come out. This other thing, this just 'talking', seems, well, pointless.

But I'm opening up the channel to see what comes out. Right now my writing is not at all interested in showing itself- for the past several weeks I have written no poems, and the work on my novel is intermittent and hard-won. But the artwork is pouring out of me at what is, for me, an astonishing rate. My experience is that when you can act as a conduit for creative flow you should just get out of the way as much as possible and let it pour through....god knows it is rare enough when it happens. So I'm riding that wave right now and enjoying it.

At work things are just sort of plodding along. I am working on a series of unsolved homicides from the late 70's, which is the best thing I've been involved with as a detective. My partner and I have set up a separate office and it looks like what you'd imagine, if you imagine that it's not like television. We're in an empty room in a storage building. We stole a desk and a table and two chairs, a filing cabinet, a dry erase board. We got a tech guy to hack a line in so we could set up a laptop and access our records system. We covered all the windows with brown paper and put all the crimescene photos up on the walls.

All day I am surrounded by these murdered women. In several of the photographs they look right into the camera, caught forever in their terrible poses, and I am not kidding when I tell you that they want something from me. That's no shit. I see their faces at night, or the bindings, the wounds...and it's not like I wake up screaming or anything. I mean, this is my job. It doesn't frighten me or creep me out. It's just sad. And I carry a certain weight around with me now, a small stone that I can't let go of.


Blogger djuana said...

I know a guy who sees dead people

Face in a pained window
in a shadow
a puff of smoke

Where was the soul
you trapped
as it was leaving

In the shutterclick
settled, clotted

8:55 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


I love this.

Thanks for your wonderful words.



7:10 PM  
Blogger anders said...

It would be interesting to know whether from a god's perspective the tracks left, say, by sidewinders in sand or fossil trilobites in rock have any more presence to them than the achings of a girl's face or stark varietal wonder of a heart, sprayed rain of a face, water of self, wine of time. they do play with dice by the sea, you know. google it, you'll see. planning cali trip later this year. working xtremely hard building business,, decided to take serious. heavy hours inc. saturdays and sundays. jenni tolerant. sad grace every morning sunrise, you know the drill, but fuck it, in back of it, let's face it, even if strictly inaccessible: laughter.
Parents doing well. dad having minor hernia surgery. expecting to get
through time
like keys handed through fire.

9:33 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


You sound good, man. I'd love to see you guys if you
come out, so let me know.

Lots of love.


6:29 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home