now

waking up begins with saying am  and now. that which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognized i, and therefrom deduced  i am, i am now. here comes next, and is at least negatively reassuring; because here, this morning, is where it had expected to find itself; what's called at home.


but now isn't simply now. now is also a cold reminder; one whole day later than yesterday, one year later than last year. every now is labelled with its date, rendering all past nows obsolete, until -- later or sooner -- perhaps -- no, not perhaps -- quite certainly; it will come.


george isherwood: a single man