September 7, 2009

Reading a little obsessively about Robert Manwill, an 8 year old in Boise beaten to death, slowly, with the intent to cause extended harm and pain, by his mother’s live-in boyfriend, with her either abetting or looking on. The body was dumped in a canal. The boy was not even a permanent problem for them, but in the custody of his father and just visiting for a while. The photos shows a regular little boy with half a crooked smile. One tries to fathom what he could have done to cause such offense. One tries to imagine his being subjected to that fate without offense at all. A life gone, swallowed up by horror and pain. Some are born to sweet delight/ Some are born to endless night. To note this truth is not to excuse it.

I want to be the Covering Cherub.

A convict in Oregon, named Cassidy, an anarchist serving an eight year term for, he says, shoplifting a pair of socks, sent in July a letter to Urthona Press asking for books for the prison library. Only tonight I am complying. The lag was, truly, so I would do it right, and something in the air tonight seemed right. There’s not that much actually from Urthona Press, but into the box went erstwhile treasures from my own shelves. I used to think I wanted as many books as I could afford, and house. Lately I’ve thought that I want as few as I can get away with.