I'm trying to find my way out of some sucky kinds of stuckness.

 I've a backlog of good, uncollected work, but no book prospects.  After a few years of frustration I'm no longer sending things out.  I'm 72 years old.  Maybe my season has passed.

I have, in fact, destroyed a lot of work recently.  So it goes, as Vonnegut used to say.

I'm spending time in notebooks trying to shake something loose.  Keywords is what's going now.

The first Keywords appears below.  It may get repurposed or trashed.  I don't know.  Am currently at work on a second installment.  The same qualifications apply.

Each "Keywords" is a constellation of word prompts and responses. There was no conscious plan beyond that.  I was creating homework for myself.  I made a list of words which have resonance for me and attempted responses to them. 

The armature is alphabetic but the composition was not linear. 

 Journal Entry

The need to

write down

more of

my off-moment

liminal thoughts,

recognitions,

misperceptions.

The need to find

some flow,

but not go

unedited.

I crave beginnings

that continue

to begin.

I want to

straddle thresholds

like time zones

and lovers.

I'm a filter

that can be

overwhelmed,

but that's

not without

interest.

I'm often 

overwhelmed.

I'm

a

poet.

Sometimes I'm

sadly

inattentive.

I'm an

anxious person

prone to

stage fright.

Given to

anxiety loops

in the middle

of the night.

I'm old

and

feeling it.

Thing is

song in my

head's

a kind of

static cling.

Ding-dong sticks,

dig?

Don't entirely

want

to know

what's going

to happen

next.

Don't exactly

get

what's happening

now.

That said,

two uncertainties

make for

terrible rhymes.

One lives

in a mulch

of thoughts,

misrecognitions,

perceptions

and felt

experience.

Uncurtainty,

bad circuitry.

I don't know.

An ecology

of mistakes.