You're not the boss of me!

Wasn't good for much this morning. Tried to write a poem with nothing in my mind at all. Campbell McGrath thinks of the poem as a jet engine, and it runs through fuel (raw material) quickly. I like this. It's handy for identifying those moments when the fuel lines are bone-dry. So I wrote about roadkill. It sounds nothing like me. Sometimes I wonder about the "one-a-day" approach to writing poems. I can't sound the way I want to sound every day. Those days, I'll write something to keep off the rust, but inevitably ratchet up tension- & ennui-wise because I feel like my voice is (for that day) gone. Thoughts on this?

Then I ran 11 miles along the Willamette. Only once did I get the "On your left!" call from a cyclist. I so loathe that call. I know you're on my left, Cyclist. I've been running since your grandpappy was jitterbugging on Armistice Day. But the day: gorgeous. 50 degrees and intermittent sun makes the miles something of a joy. It turns out that I can access this system of paths even from out here on River Road, which I've always considered removed from the town proper. Makes me wish I'd had my bike not stolen in New York; I could have done far less driving this year. Back home, in the shower, allergies struck. Foolishly rubbed my eyes, which clamped shut and blinded me for the duration. Shaving blind is an adventure, let me tell you; I had to peek around the sideburns.

But the big news is that I've just finished my last academic paper for the foreseeable future. It compares the social & philosophical theories of Althusser (you're born into the ruling ideology and cannot escape it) and Gramsci (you can escape it if you foster the right kind of intellect in yourself and others; Marxism helps, nudge nudge). Its title is the title of this post. And that sentiment has ever rung true, but never quite as true as it does now. Mood: sorta lost.