I am a home-boy tecnico, a technician of primarily XP the windows system I run. Instead I should have learned to set up a decent website to run everything on one instead of poems here, art there, Italy this and America that.
I was on the interior stairway of our apartment, my independent spot of solitude where nothing goes on. I use the stairway for the peace and quiet that is here. No one is around; often we have the building to ourselves. From the stairway I have a private internal courtyard, like standing on a lonely mountain away for all, a thinking place, without the view. I use the space to imagine I can see forever.
Thank you both for your time and comments Marja and Hannah. I saw the words you left on the poem Busy and this is in response to that. I’m here with morning coffee and saw these comments. It requires your time to stop and make a note. I am grateful.
More often I say nothing, as I generally leave the comments alone, for those who want to say something, I don’t know why . . . I think I didn’t want to turn everything into a discussion page, but I don’t know why not, I let the poetry run where it goes, why not comments? why not another cup of coffee and I’ll wake up and think about it later.
TomC and Annie, also my friends, thanks again to both of you for your words that I rarely respond to, I just read and let stand.
My stalker has distracted me lately. She began eight years ago and it is annoying. This past Sunday she was at the Chinese restaurant we eat at with our friend.
I have her business card with her full name and addresses in Paris and Monte Carlo, France. She is on youtube with a half hour discussion about adopting children.
I haven’t publicized her name yet, but it is getting close. She is a psychologist with a nonfiction book out.
My wife and I are getting tired of her appearances in Rome. We’ve seen her outside or building looking up at our window. Last year I encountered her in a nearby alley and asked her what she wants . . . she doesn’t respond. She is generally here a few times every year. Rome is a big city, she doesn't have to be underfoot. It bothers Meri. It bothers me.
Sunday when I saw her at the restaurant passing a few feet from our table I stood and told her to leave. She kept walking.
This distraction has affected my writing. I am tired of it. I have spoken to the local carabinieri to no avail.
I mention this as it bothers me. I’d rather work on my books and poems than spen thoughts considering a nut.
Full dream ahead was to be a poem today . . . I think those are the words I thought of, but other thoughts came to mind and I was distracted before I could write it down.
Thanks for your patience . . . and reading opersistance.