Confession: A rejection today that is a little more painful than some. A local journal, one that is getting better, getting on without me. It’s tough not to think about numbers, about wins & losses. I don’t follow the World Cup, or even the NBA Finals anymore. But I still capitalize those constructs, as fits the sociology I live in. Yeah, yeah, yeah (here’s the chorus, just to mix in too many metaphors) — I’m getting better in other ways. (The fear: I’ve reached my apex and am starting the slope down of that arc, no matter how short the length or how sharp the curve.)
Confession: A little loneliness.
Confession: Little doesn’t work as an adjective for loneliness. It”s kind of like being a little pregnant. Either you are or you aren’t.
Confession: I want to erase any title of poet as applied to myself and replace that word with reader. Being a good reader is my new aspiration. I thought that thought long before my last rejection, by the way. Reading is what I aspire to. And taking good notes. See what a slippery slope that is? The run up and run down to the apex is slippery.
Confession: Belief in an ultimate point on a line or an arc is like belief in God.
Confession: The theoretical proof of one single point is explainable. God is a spoof.
