My brain seems a bit more in order than it had in a long while. I’ve felt scattered for a few months. Well, if I’m honest, I’ve felt like a huge screw up. But no matter, I’m feeling a bit more sorted out. After a relatively long dry spell, I’ve been writing again. It is nice to have the words return when it happens. It is a feeling that almost makes those blocks worth it. Scratch that, let them stay this time.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading again too. It seems that with my brain functioning fully, I can do a great many things. I’ve discovered L Frank Baum. What a fantastic imagination he had! For a few years now I’ve wanted to read the original 40 Oz books, the first 14 of which were written by Baum. I’m on book #5 right now, The Road To Oz. They are such fun books and keep interesting even without any violence. There is a little bit of conflict in each book, but it isn’t typically a murderous villain. The foes are thoughtful characters who explain themselves and the position they are in. I wish I’d found these books in childhood. I tend to create worlds in the way Baum did. I’ve secured 12 of the 14 of his books and I’ll find the final 2 I need this weekend. As is typical, they all seem to be between printings. Ruth Plumly Thompson, the second and most prolific Oz author will take me a lot more time. 15 of her 19 books are still in print, but somewhat expensive. I’ll have to buy them slowly and may never get to read the last few unless they are reprinted. The cheapest copy of one of them I found was $150… I don’t need to read it that bad!Continue Reading

Literary Debris

The deities are losing cellular cohesion, gasping desperately for breaths as they become liquid and evaporate.
The poets have been usurped by melancholy memoirists,
aching to have original lives.
Every story seems to be told, despite repetition
despite repetition
despite repetition,
despite…
repetition.
I keep sweeping up the dried remnants of fallen giants:
Thoreau, Dickinson, Whitman, O’Hara;
I even find Baum and Steinbeck and Spyri in the wreckage.
I collect the bits I can in a beautiful vessel where they remain safe, more pieces having been spared than expected.
Few search for the treasures, worried they’ll cut themselves on the old words of masters.
Picking through the pieces still brings me joy
even if I’ve no one to share them with;
I wish I could be as beautiful whole as they are in shards & residue.

Notes

Written 16 February 2009 in Anchorage, Alaska.

Brian Fuchs, “Literary Debris” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

My stomach decided to go on the attack and I have been really unhappy for about 24 hours. Blah! I’ve medicated and hopefully will be all better very soon.

I really did spend the day being pretty unhappy. I had friends over late, I couldn’t sleep because of my stomach issues, and overslept for work. I felt really bad. And then I couldn’t seem to get anything right at work. Grr.