December 10, 2020

Countertenors on Youtube. 

Bizarre tumult last night. Wondering if it was as simple as drinking a caffeinated beverage before sleep. It followed me into the day in the form of problematic bowels, which required two emergency stops, once at the river office and once at the Arts Council in Marshall– where, to pay for using their facilities, I bought a handmade whisk broom. I’d gone to Marshall– I realize now, having kept it from myself– to test if anybody had read OBN, set partially in their town. I always arrive at everything too early, so no one had appeared before I set my face again to the south. I’ve heard scarcely a word about the book, it too disappearing into the great maelstrom of indifference that sweeps all adjacent shores. 

After weeks (maybe months) relatively free of it, inflammation returns. Part of last night’s sleeplessness was agony in my shoulders, and when I woke it was as if I wore a scalding body stocking of pain. God provides that aspirin does a good job of pushing it back, but one still wonders about cause, and why sometimes and other times not. Weather? Does it come with the cold? I have not been systematic in my inquiry.

Did some walking, with Irving Berlin in my head, especially the horrible “The Girl that I Marry” from an album called Pat Boone Sings Irving Berlin that my father bought when he was in his stereo phase.

You go out to fill the bird feeder. A memory or a bit of an old song lands on you like the tip of an arrow. You stand on the cold bricks and weep. The birds stare at you and wonder what could be wrong, when you’ll get back into the house so they can feed.