sweet and clear as the moonlight on the pines

stuck in my head, as i would say, bouncing about my head like a half crazy shit house fly bouncing inside a lampshade... not that mr. ray charles is a bad thing, quite the contrary. just stuck with the empathy and mustiness of asome of my dads notebooks that i have been browsing through. moose 1999 bowling tourney pamphlet that lists my dad and a p corsi as bowling on lane 19 sun april 18 11.15am. notes from his ge metal working, engineering job where he said to his own admission mostly sat and read newspapers and books and later worked on his thesis and term papers for his masters in english. unfortunately not enough time to write while driving a bus or to sit back and relax too, too much. learning the route as they say. it feels like a morning paper route and hopefully get more morning runs than not. morning person and mourning person, yet. my dads stuff is bittersweet, feeling like i am constantly touching the tip of the proverbial iceberg and there was so much that only glinted like a mirage in the distance that i always tried to approach, but unlike a mirage, i think that it is there, but constantly far away.