Robert sits in the Cafe Flore.
He sips a cup of green tea.
He traces words in a note-book.
A stranger flips the table and shouts: “When you are ready to decide who you are let me know!”
His Mother throws poems at me and weeps.
“Such lovely poems,” she says, “but all about me…all about me.”
I wear the black trench coat of mourning.
“Ya know,” I say, “I was taught to be more dispassionate.”
Robert rights the table and smiles: “So was I. We’re Jewish, ya know.”
“Yes.” I sigh. “More tea?”
Robert nods and passes me the cup.
“I had a dream about you,” says Robert.
I see all of San Francisco from the summit of Mount Haleakalā.
It is dawn and a dense fog settles as a crown around my head.
There is a scent of roses.
A jagged crack slaps my face.
View original post 44 more words
Something as mundane as finding that I’ve followed someone by mistake can unsettle me for days.
It’s not uncommon for me to find comments about a post that I know nothing about; I often don’t know what’s been posted until I see a comment.
I usually read the post before I reply.
The trigger in this case was that I replied to the comment, went to see what it was about; saw a very nice blog, but not one that I would follow.
It felt odd.
How did it happen?
I told a friend.
She thought that one of my alternates had played a prank.
Why didn’t if feel like something I would do?
Then the trigger kicked in.
Was I hacked?
I rarely discuss the practical problems of being a blogger with Dissociative Identity…
View original post 374 more words