Am kind of out of sorts.
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Listening to Ravi Coltrane's gorgeous Spirit Fiction.
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New on the stack: A Poet's Mind: Collected Interviews with Robert Duncan, 1960-1985 (North Atlantic Books, 2012).
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My reading at Kent State is a month away. Doing readings as infrequently as I do they become occasions for anxiety.
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This has been a summer of turmoil. Lots of family stuff/drama going on. So writing projects kept getting derailed.
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Am a little stuck at this point in Appearances. I haven't been meeting my page goals but I work on the damn thing pretty much every day. A generous excerpt, by the way, will be appearing before too long at Peep/Show.
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Another book I read this past week was Yes, Chef by Marcus Samuelsson. It's a remarkable, vivid memoir. Now I want to go to Harlem and eat at the Red Rooster. Not likely to happen, but one can dream.
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It's been thundering off and on this afternoon.
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Aside from the Ravi Coltrane cd I've been listening to a lot of B.B. King this week. His voice, his guitar playing and the feeling behind it all never fail to move me.
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Sometimes loneliness overwhelms. Sometimes one's thoughts underwhelm.
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