[Morning freewrite]
Letter writing is a battle that must be won.  Kepp up with your mail.  I
need to start making an effort to win this battle.  But where to start?  We
need a plan of some sort, but what?  There's nothing quite like letter
writing to make us slowly lose ground.  After all, not everyone writes mail.
So if you have ten friends and you write to all of them.  It may happen that
all ten of them write back to you while they have no one else to write to.
Thus you have ten mail messages to send out every week while they only have
one a piece.... Now imaging you have twice theat number.  And perhaps five
times that number of acquaintances that you feel you might like to
correspond with, but you don't know yet.  There's only a certain amount of
time, is there not?  So I have a solution:  everyone should suffer hte same
burden of letter writing.  Let's start a web page where you put your name in
the queue and every time you send a letter to the next person in the queue
you are put back into the queue.  You write to the next person in the queue
as well.  Isn't this spiffy?  I think it would be hilarious fun.  Just don't
know what the rules would have to be.  It could get out of hand I suppose.

Anyhow.  Next topic.  My seams on my sleeping bag liner are causing me no
end of grief.  But  Isuppose I'll get over it.  The fabris is light and
forgiving.  It just doesn't look very good.  I'll have to figure out what to
do differently for next time, but for now I suppose I'll be fine with it.

This freewrite is not coming very well.  Fits and gasps it is.  I wonder
what it is?  I'm not sure.  Perhaps the feeling that I have nothing to say
this morning -- my dreams last night have already faded. ...

I started reading the Diary of Anais Nin last night.  A great writer, she
is.  I similarities in style between her and Henry Miller.  Content, voice,
and character behind the writing are clearly different, but style has a
familiarity to it that I recognize in Henry Miller.

It is hard to think of her as a young girl writing her Diary, though.  Why?
I am not sure.  Because she is a legend of the literary world?  And thus
must be old?  How old do you think Shakespeare is?  Or Thoreau?  Or Emerson,
Whitman, cummings?  Can you ever think of them as being different ages?  Or
do they exist in one timeless moment?  Did you see a certain picture of them
and that is the only one you see?  Like Moses, do they eternally wear a grey
beard and stormy eyes?  It is hard to think of authors as being humans.
Changeable.  Mutable.  Not just in physical aspect, but in emotional and
ideological aspects as well.  If Thoreau and Emerson had been closer in age,
would Emerson have felt that Thoreau's attitude towards presenting his views
towards others was nobler?

[End Morning freewrite]