Coyote

Coyote

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Welcome. Tonight, January 22, 2011, a year leading into another.

I start these pages with only slight misgivings about cleansing diets and lack of sleep. In regard to the diet, I didn't partake in alcohol or coffee or sugar for twenty-four days.  Week one, not much energy, my hands trembled, dreamt of tequila, which in waking state I rarely drink.  Second week, nausea in the afternoon.  Third week, red swollen toes, one on each foot, as if they were infected.  The last day of the cleanse, my nose started bleeding as I chatted with a student in the University library.  I read Simenom's Dirty Snow and Cheever's Falconer, stayed up into the night thinking how I can create flow (or enter it?) in my life and accept death for what it is. Some say we are what we eat, I say we are what we dream.  All things a dream, said Genro, and for this I give him credit.

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