did that fill the gap?

walking into the store looking for what, exactly?
handling that leather journal, with the unlined parchment paper.
the fantasy that it would solve everything, for $12.95.
that just owning it and carrying it around would do...
walking away empty handed.
empty handed.

business conversation

Actually, my idea is not to start a bakery but a baking retreat center, like springwater but with even less formality. The idea being for small groups to come to learn how to bake their own bread for a day or weekend, while also providing the opportunity to sit quietly in nature as the dough rises. I don't expect to make any profit from it, though it'd be nice if possible.

if you can talk and correspond with me you are on autistic spectrum for sure and any business you do wants to have minimal contact with people !

Interacting with the public is tiresome for me; I'm much better with one-on-one and small group situations. Whether that's autistic spectrum or not, I don't know. I do better in focused individual activities, though I don't want to be completely isolated.

there's heaps of room for an effective advertiser on the net, it's not being done properly at all at the moment,

Well, that's the problem – it seems that in the web programming world, the major opportunities are around advertising and collecting more information about people in order to con them better. It may be lucrative, but it's unfulfilling. I don't see a way to do it that isn't manipulative and eventually quite evil.

to do well financially in life you need to find an area that you are effortlessly able in, otherwise you will just muddle along !

I'm not worried about getting rich. If it's possible to do more programming for hire, that might be fine (and it is something that comes easily to me). If I can end up building furniture for money, that might be fine, too. Or baking? Who knows?


the blue wool sweater unearthed
from the wooden winter clothes box.
it hibernated under my house for the summer,
becoming home to earwigs, spiders,
and dust.

shaking the sweater forms a cloud of memories
sawdust of past productivity fills the pockets,
never completely empty.

initials sewn into the collar
evoke an unknown "J.B."
even the earwigs and spiders have died.

all day, the dust sneezing persists
while the must makes me smell older.
we carry on together
sharing warmth and purpose
for a time.

depressed on mass ave

take a stroll through cambridge
or anywhere
the singular pursuit of pleasure
the drive to reproduce
circular ambition

tremendous anguish, strolled past
while the earth has our number
ever downward ticking.
if a comet arrived next year,
would we stop?