it's wednesday now day before tanksgibbing..frank williams has died undergoing heart surgery which is sad but i feel, inevitable due to age and infirmity, rather like my father became before he passed on..I've been sorting clothes in my bedroom..need to go over and let out the cat next door..I open the door for Gracie the dog and here comes the neighbors from up above..pulling a suitcase on wheels, glum looks on their faces, headed somewhere for some reason..lives probably being wasted by their 'trivial pursuits'..not a friendly pair in anyway, more like dogsbodies..and there goes Frank and my dad into the unknown gloom, always productive, always a certainty..the hoarder, in this regard saves a piece of all he sees and knows and wants to 'get back to' to restudy..like Famous Shoes in Commanche Moon, McMurtry's book I just read..the Indian tracker who wants to go back and analyze a thing he finds in the desert..always studying, the hoarder intends to study..intends to learn from, create out of...and does have the available time...what to do? throw away the clocks??
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