July 8, 2008

The water lily blossom sank back into the dark of the pond as mysteriously as it had risen.
Morning coffee with Jason. We talked about art, religious fanaticism, his show, my show. We brought each other gifts. He brought me a book; I brought him a toy and a Hawaiian shirt. The discussion of fanaticism inspired us to drive to Greenville to see Bob Jones’s art. He told me about when he broke his collarbone. He has Ent eyes. He is the perfect man.

Google search beamed into my mailbox a blog, called Age of Saliva, which is clearly a satire of mine. The author calls himself Minnehaha. I’m pretty sure I know who he is–he returns to certain obsessions out of the past, even as I do. As far as I can remember, I have never treated him with anything but the most tender and forbearant kindness, based on my true affection. Surely in this too we see things differently. It is– disappointing. One hopes for a friend and gets a sneering kind of spy. I cannot even cry "Foul!" because I am a pompous ass sometimes, and that fact is the blog’s main fodder. It’s nice, in a way, to be someone’s obsession. But, for the life of me, I wonder, "why bother?"