Sentience is the curse of those who care

I have a meeting later today to go over the cover design for PSALMS OF THE MONSTER RIVER CULT, the collaborative book that will serve as both sequel to my volume THE MORGANTOWN SUITE POEMS as well as to Daniel S. McTaggart's MIDNIGHT MUSE IN A CONVENIENCE STORE. We're both pretty pumped about it.

For some reason, Joan Baez's song 'Diamonds and Rust" is stuck in my head. Usually this means a turn of lyric speaks to me at this time, on at least a preconscious level (damn you, Nancy, for making me so aware of my layers..."memory (or in this case, sentience) is the curse of those who care" (a line from a poem I wrote about your sister's sexual awakening, VIRGIN'S DAWN. My, what a tangled web is my life).

You should read my memoirs, sometime. When they come out. After my death. Don't hold your breath, you'll beat me to the grave. Most of the people who would be most pained by the world knowing truths I carry like tumors within me, I honestly believe I will stand by their tombstones before I sleep. Dr. Armstrong was right, I seem to have inherited a cursedly durable genetic makeup.