Notes from torn, spiral notebook pages

(These are a series of notes from random notebook pages found in my accordion binder of random shit. The dates are listed, boldfaced, before each section / notebook page. I assume I was bored in class. I’ve added a few words in a few places that I felt really sucked, but most of these thoughts are untouched.)


As the contrasting hues collide at the end of summer – the birth of fall – I lay down in writing slumber.

One half a century

not a long time

Just enough to almost let

the smoke, the smell


as did skin from bones of charred innocence

A touch of one’s finger

at times can be beauty

leading flowers to the canvas;

at times can be death at the push of a button

a little larger than the tip

of one’s finger.

Who love the men and women who died?

Who loved them as they lived?

It’s hard to say after they lay in dust

All love the dead.

They must, or they aren’t human.

Shut up your face

Opinionated fool

There are more sides than one to this puzzle.

However, you are so right.



Dwelling on “The Snow Man”.

Unlocated listeners learn

Imaginative perceptions.

Misery into the wind.

Do not associate spontaneous creativity

with imaginative activity.

Let us move on.

See if you can give us more

We’re never satisfied

Enough to drench our parched tongues

Enough to wet the earth

Enough Enough

Enough or nothing at all

Just see if you can give us more

To save a breath again.



Little narratives

Everyday life

Makes good for those who know better

(Those who know nothing at all)

Little narratives

Inform and dismay

Make blank day to day

The spaces already filled in

I live not in physical confinement

At least no more than the soul allows

Against a rock

A steamed cloth hangs

Only to be wrinkled again

Then back to the start

To fold

Mixed signals.

Does she want me or not?

Do I want her?


Can I tell her that?


Mixed signals.

Spontaneity rules.

Speak up, Mr. Gimpel, sir.

Your wife is in my head.

If you don’t set the record straight

she’ll visit me in bed.


Don’t you see what’s happening,

The way she gets around?

Or do you blind yourself instead

and let her play you down?


Oh no, Mr. Gimpel, man.

How confusing life must be.

A wife at home

while bastards roam.

Oh when shall you be free?


(Draft 1)

They wait in – ah! – They

wait alone. Together and…


They wait…

(Draft 2)

They wait in…


They wait alone,


They both hear…


They may not both


what is trying to be said.

It’s sad – they think –

to be together.

It’s sad to be alone.

But if you make

your fucking mind

It’s good to be

your own.

Published by Mind Stroll

This is a collage. This is old and new. This is mainly new added to old. This is not a test.

2 thoughts on “Notes from torn, spiral notebook pages

    1. It’s fun to reminisce on how my mind was working at the time these chunks were written. Thanks for taking the time to read.

      Liked by 1 person

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