When I say American I mean uncorrected by the main history of human suffering. –Saul Bellow Such as myself, in this photo (yes that is the hat from Lubbock):
I have mixed up two poems in my head, poems about mixing it up. One is Harmonie du Soir: Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l’air du soir;Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige! Sounds and perfumes circle in the evening air;Melancholy waltz and languorous vertigo! and the other, Correspondances: Comme de longs échos qui de […]
I’m in love. Can I just say that? I’m over the moon for Humboldt’s Gift. Will it last? Only time can tell. I have a book on my shelf entitled “Can Love Last?” by a perceptive, dead psychoanalyst. I have read it several times, remembering nothing. Actually the last five days, their heavy servings of […]
For the first time, a reader has posted a comment, in essence “blogging” about something that happened to me–something I was planning to blog about–BEFORE I HAD A CHANCE to do so. I can’t decide if I’m angry about this, touched, or simply amused: There was a magical moment around the time of the “tripped […]
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