Spitball Army

Rain;
The library;
The Dexateens’ Singlewide

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I used to think that 1972 was the be-all, end-all year of pop music, and 1967. Now I’m not so sure which one comes out on top. There is a ten-year stretch in there between the mid-’60s and the mid-’70s when some of my favorite records of all genres were released. I become firmer in my resolve about that with each passing year.

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Of course there is powerful literature in all big cultures, but you can’t get away from the fact that Europe still is the center of the literary world … not the United States.

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Mac would sit in the back reading or would roam about the store chatting with people in English and Spanish.

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He lay in his bed of sweetgrass telling over the touch of her bare arm that rubbed along his when she handed him back the nozzle of the sprayer for the fruittrees, or was helping him pile up the pruned twigs to burn, and the roundness of her breasts and her breath sweet as a cow’s on his neck when they romped and played tricks on each other evenings after supper.

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She sat, firm as a kettle drum,
As the Asian college girls lay on blankets at her feet
Studying organic chemistry.

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Being evasive is not the same as lying in Bush’s mind.

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Today I was sidelined with the incapcitating numbies, which is what I am calling the non-specific dizzyness and lethargy that I am associating with a cold. I also can’t sit still in one place today. So I am taking the opportunity to spend the afternoon in my office, clearing out the crap.

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They found him this morning. Lying on Mexican tile in his kitchen with a peeled banana stuck in his mouth. He had an old Gianni Versace tie around his neck. Tied real tight in a half Windsor knot, and there was a bullet in his head.

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I am sometimes very conscious that I am following the path of a leader who dies when He was less than half as old as I am now. I see and feel things He never saw or felt. I know things He seems never to have known.

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