Pleasures of misdirections and detours. The storm stranded me in San Jose, CA yesterday. So, many thanks to C. and J. for their kindness and hospitality, letting me stay on their couch in San Francisco. Enjoyed talking, looking at books, and seeing Aztec dancers and drummers on the way to a taqueria for dinner. Wish I could have spent longer there. A Thank You Letter to both of you.


Had a chance to see The Revolution Will Not Be Televised last night. Fascinating footage up close w/ Ch______ & Co. in April of 2002. I'm feeling too good to say much about the film. Except to note how many times I chuckled at the things Ch______ said in his meetings w/ cabinet members. Without malice, I'm amazed by the magnitude of his ignorance. His cliches and slogans are astoundingly adolescent.

It is a long tragedy we are living through.


Wrote "poems" on the commuter rail from San Francisco to San Jose this morning. Feels like learning to write again. Or, the ever blocked hand. But I aspire to their beauty and they are what I live for, whether they appear on a page, in a human, in a tree, an animal, or a landscape. Their apparitions are almost always blessings.


Wilson Harris, The Mask of the Beggar (2003):

"Art was a substitute through which one was involved, whether as a goddess or a god, to respond to multiple cries in the Silences of a numb humanity of wood or glass or flesh. Whatever divisions one made, whatever philosophical calculations, none were to be taken literally." (26)

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