Elipses

No matter how much I want to edit past posts with knowledge that I have today. . . I can't. . . because I don't think its necessary. Just like it seems that much of my life goes back to an axis of an event that is different every time. I wonder where it will all go. I was thinking of grad school today. . . no that's not right. . . I was thinking of school today. . . still no . . . definately I was thinking of Halloween 4 today after watching it last night--@ 3 AM and wondering about past autumns, and football games with hard aluminum benches, and death. . . then to the first stanza of James Wright's poem Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood, And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel, Dreaming of heroes. . . . . . then to Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio and the bookstore where I bought it in some mall in Lexington KY. Anderson went from Ohio to Chicago and then wrote about Ohio. Mostly though he wrote letters, more pages in letters than in fiction . . . think Gertrude Stein. Then to Woddy Harrelson, but that wouldn't do. I moved back to the hard benches of football games and compared them to the benches off the piers of Orange Country and the Pacific that I never had a connection to. Then to the famous people I have known . . . which resulted into thinking of Liv Tyler. And the famous people that I will hopefully know in the future. And Sartre's idea of being famous. Finally, I picked up a composition book, and began writing.