February 1, 2019

Dream before morning. I’m visiting somebody’s house where everyone’s gathered in the kitchen. I walk into the next room, where I feel myself passing out. I think as I sink toward the floor, “No one will know this happened. I am not the one who is ever found in trouble or hurt, but wakes himself and binds up his own wounds and doesn’t even bother to tell the story.” That’s exactly what happened. I came to, got up, went about my business. Later someone pointed out the misty mark my body had left on the floor and said that proved I’d been sitting and watching TV.

Review from the Internet:

JulieW142014
Harare, Zimbabwe
Reviewed November 28, 2017
"Uranium 235"
Plenty of shockingly relevant insight in 'Uranium 235'. Loved Truman's exploration of his 'non-choices' in dealing with Japan with Clio, the muse of history. Juxtaposed with the blatant propaganda song and dance of the day, my own moral compass had a spin. So glad I saw it!

Received my order of Alter’s new translation of the Hebrew bible.

Received Sweet Herbaceous Miracle, a book of poetry that must have been the winner of some contest I entered. It is implausibly bad, as if someone had decided to try in one volume all the ways in which softness and self-indulgence and tone-plagiarism could make a poem founder. It is the winner of the Ciardi Prize for Poetry. What given the quality of the work, could that possibly mean?