Ken Morrill

I idealize what I want to do.
I make the most of my situation.
I want to know what I don’t know now.

Was Marcos lying that night?

Time to sleep now.
Please write clearly tomorrow.

Journal

I woke doubtful of academia — full of two dreams. The last featured my Thai girlfriend as a prostitute, whom I waited for in her apartment, then came down to utilize because I could wait no longer. Her china eyes highly formalized, like some abstract African sculpture made with diced out ebony and ivory.

Later, climbing onto a roof with Dave, Alan, and Dan, I pointed out the landscape, sandy with trees. We saw a deer. I sent Dan to call my girlfriend out to see it. In the meantime, a dog grabbed the deer, dragged it into the cabin, meeting resistance from our dogs. But the dog devoured the deer in front of her.

Earlier dream about beautiful girl in Post Modernism class (Darcy) - how we got along by agreeing about approaches to life and mentioning more about or thoughts and mentioning more about our thoughts and impressions. (Though I was nervous that I had too much to say, always responding with my thoughts on any topic). She said the night sky was dark gray rather than dark blue.

“The pond I entered and quickly fled” (Hart Crane).

Journal

How much sunlight was in your London,
Your Europe after old Brazilian places?
Beautiful in memory as all things are,
Tempting like breezes,
Europe repeated and sadly remembered.
So we seem defeated,
Who saw it through rain.

If no one wins then why do I feel so lost?
Lost most of all you, your care and caresses;
Not just you undressing but that part too.

Don’t think any more you might say over distance:
“But I feel empty and tight like a drum.”
You — I know not where — now part of a dream.
The sea, my red heart, the sky filled with clouds.

A feeling for art I once had, gone now.
The storm, the bed, and the long walks in the morning.
Wine and wildflowers, shivering with flame.

Journal

Back in my room after a twenty-four-hour adventure in Washington with the girl I met one week ago at the end of the Matisse in Nice exhibit. Intense and strange, too much of everything too fast.

Just to recover is what I now want. Thinking about my friend from Canada, I called her and told her I was back, waiting to talk to her when she comes back, here in my room with my books, as I am, as I want to be, like to be.

How dreadful and intense and wonderful Washington was last night. So much like a long dream but I want to keep it that, not make or let that which I experienced become my life or the quality of my life. For all the sex and screaming orgasms and wild dancing and new music it was still emotionally dull, and I appreciate scenes and situations and most of all people in my past more than ever before.

Among the worst things were no snacks and no breakfast.

argos - white
argent - silver

“The past glows with a sunset flush of poetry. The future is cold with sad features sharply defined. But the past fades into indistinctness, while the future broadens into perfect clarity of day” (John Addington Symonds, In the Key of Blue).

Journal

Waking in the night to wonder 1) why I have human animal form; 2) what I am to do; 3) what my day will bring; 4) what my roots are; 5) what I shall eat; 6) why neither Chris nor Jamie would come to Washington; 7) whether John Tagliabue is right about my education and career.

And I am wondering myself what to do in the future. Thinking it is strange what I have taken from life so far and that I am not perfect at remembering literary phrases, though not bad either. It is not a profession that challenges all of my faculties (though a good share).

Journal