June 7, 2010

Calm evening after turbulent day.

I bought black dress shoes.

Went to the studio twice, one in the morning and once, just ending now, at the edge of night. Each time I did good work, and hadn’t expected to. Each time I was finally worn away by the truck drivin’ music coming from next door. C has the worst musical taste in the world, and cannot live even a second in silence. Nor is it enough that only she might hear. It is observable that people with the worst taste are the most bent on imposing it upon you, as if, becoming ubiquitous, it would somehow stop being bad. Tonight the steel guitars and country twang was replaced by– even worse, if that can be imagined– multi-diva versions of “We Are the World.” I went out into the holy twilight and shook my head like an injured dog.

Grieving for my hummingbirds. I let their feeder go dry. Now every five minutes I creep to the window to see if they’ve forgiven me and come back.

Sat on the terrace of Mountain Java and wrote poems until the light was too thin. I was happy for that time.

The yellow hollyhocks are eight feet tall. From the living room they look like spires sweeping out of the cloud of Mary blue hydrangea.