June 30, 2019

Unexpected voice from the past. Email from Mike, the son of Geneva Emily, who discovered twenty years after her death that I was designated to be the possessor, and I suppose executor, of her literary works. He’s sending them now, digitalized, in what appear to be gigantic attachments. Geneva was my greatest fan, and idolized me beyond reason and certainly beyond what I could sustain. I thought we had parted in shadow. Maybe we had, and this is my punishment. Her Verse Letter: to David Hopes is the one thing ever dedicated to me. I wonder if the cache includes copies of that. Mine disappeared in some move or other. Return of a strangeness that I’d thought had cycled through.

Went back to the Magnetic to see IAG. Much better than the last time, the actors engaged, the audience big and enthusiastic. Glad that was the last impression rather than the Friday before. Except for Jack and DJ, no one from AGMC attended. I may have misunderstood what we were all about. No one from the University, either, that I saw, but one got used to that of old. Whatever its virtues, UNCA has never particularly supported its own. The bright side is that people who don’t know me at all come to see my work for its own sake, I suppose, or because they’re friends with the actors. God bless the actors.