The following is a work of fiction.

Not Nick Nolte's Diary, Malibu, California
May 19, 2005


Memorial Day is fast approaching and I am trying to find the appropriate poem for the celebration. And save me the Ezra Pound tip, Constance already called. I am also having troubles locating a pair of large scissors. I wish I could use a golden shovel instead. I know it is the wrong ceremony but I have two of those. Murphy's Law. Overall, I am leaning towards William Blake. If he were alive I am sure he'd lean back. There is something about his tone that I am certain will fit the pool opening. Don't ask me why, it is simply a gut instinct. That sounds funny. Is there a head instinct? Or a heart instinct? Where is the soul, and where do I buy large scissors Diary? I think maybe I should write the poem myself. I am heading over to the Selectric. Dip the quill, Diary.

[signed] Nick

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