Totalizing rage of being here. Still here. C says, ‘Sacramento’s not so bad, I’m here, and Lions is here.’ Which is true. And there are good friends and good books and the weather is so mild and I have money and coffee and all the schemes to get more of both. But what I am craving is to be lying naked in wild winter mud. To dismiss anything as being dead, is to ignore the pleasures and advantages of being dead. C told me this morning that in Korea, people hike to the tops of mountains and lie in the sun on a rock, and then scream with all their might. Terrific, blood chilling screams. Fingers warping into claws. And then they relax completely. And then they scream again.
