Dating zippo lighter 1937 1950
This is important if you consider writing your personal and family history important to your descendants. He read part or all of Howl, his masterpiece, he read his great poem about Walt Whitman, his mentor and the mentor for any American who loved poetry, as I did. By five o’clock, when the reading was supposed to end, the great ballroom, a huge room as the name implies, was filled, and still others came, some just to see what was going on. The reading and Allen’s exuberance and almost saintly sincerity kept us there until 6 o’clock, when he reluctantly stopped, when we reluctantly left. Of course Allen was chiding us about our hatred for the “bad Russians.” One wonders what he would have for us today were he around—would he only listen to V. Or would he remind us of the great Russian people and their almost infinite suffering? 14, 2016The longer I live the stranger my life seems to me. I’d make a one line note, maybe, or just a mental note—love those mental notes (but where are they now? I could write faster…I could write without thinking. And most of my mental life consists of little one-act fantasies. Popeye, the greatest American philosopher of the 20th Century, says, I am what I am. This drill was really in pretty good condition, it was just old. I had to fix one or two of the tubes through which the grain dropped into the soil, and a few other things, and I was field ready.
I wanted to be a printer, I thought then, and that was part of it. Now…writing, which has been and remains my real occupation since I was about 8, my pre-occupation and my occupation—in writing I have found a kind of meditation too, that is much more pleasant. I write and lose my mind and I am so focused on what I’m doing I don’t even know I’m doing it. I know I don't feel that way, but after 52 years of journaling and something like 12,000,000 words, I am having trouble thinking of more stories. I guess I am a grandfather, though I still think my own grandfather was The grandfather--I'm still a little kid, especially when somebody gives me a present. I went all the way through high school wearing just like all the other boys, a plain white t-shirt. I cry during movies, and now in my old age sometimes I'm crying during real life.
June’s beloved Christmas flowers are quietly growing; the Christmas lights hanging on the window beside me are being green and red and yellow and blue…you might say that God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.
And I wasn’t pulling the plough, it was back there halfway into the ground, just the tips, and I was moving along, ten, twenty, forty feet away. Lucky those things didn’t snap on you, You'd a been a human slingshot, Ted said when I asked him to come look. Most of them, if not all of them, had been shepherds in the hills—real shepherds of real sheep. The tractor groaned, lurched, from somewhere came a whack! My brand new hydraulic hoses were stretched out and were about to snap. Easy way to spend, what, ‘bout fifty dollars for the pair, I’ll bet. I got to know some of them, one was assigned to help us in the office and somehow we communicated with winks and nods and grunts and jokes. (A few years later I was to have as an advisor and major professor Edgar Wolfe, who was an expert translator of Turkish poetry and fiction; but that was later.) The soldiers weren’t exactly in the snappiest uniforms I’d ever seen…they wore greenish- brown baggy rumpled shorts, shirts, and some kind of simple floppy caps, all the same color and the same cloth.There are numerous causes to writer’s block but prompts are the way to avoid it. Your best prompts are those that come to you unbidden in the course of the day. Make a note and stick it under your keyboard or clip it to your monitor. They are not things like “write about Mom.” They are things like “write about the time Mom told the policeman she was going to take his badge number and call the county.” Make a list of these narrative prompts. Write along with me every day for the next 28 days and you will form the habit of journaling every day, one day at a time. Several other men looked at it, then at him, then at me. Last night when I couldn't sleep I got up and worked. I quit in 1982, but I smoked enough to compromise my lungs--that smoke and the wood smoke from heating all those years down on the farm without an airtight stove, not even knowing for years what an airtight stove was. One day Allen Ginsberg showed up on campus, and came to the Student Union there and gave a poetry reading.So make a list, a long list, of prompts to get you going and keep you going and keep it handy at your writing desk. Have 10 or 20 at hand when you sit down to write, and don’t walk past the first one and say, Oh, I don’t feel like that one now. Don’t say, Oh, that’s a good one, and then expect to find it there on the tip of your fingers when you sit down to write. I tend to have my ideas for writing come at me at the oddest moments (driving, bathing, always I seem to be doing something that prevents note-taking), and so I cease what I’m doing just as soon as I can and start writing. In one year if you write 500 words a day you will write 182,500 words--the length of three books. Anyhow, I figured out that I smoked a cigaret that was almost four miles long! It was to be a 4 in the afternoon in the Grand Ballroom.