July 30 2025
Reading MJ's memoir. He warned me I’d be in it, so I looked first thing, and there I am, primarily to do a good deed which I had forgotten: introducing him to his second wife, S, who was my roommate at the time. She asked to move in while divorcing her first husband (whom I thought was exquisite: a handsome abstract painter), which I didn’t realize until now was probably a set-up concocted by her and MJ to get her away from her husband and into a space where they could carry on their passion. . . which they did. No matter. It was an interesting time. The book puzzles me a little. It’s a lively read, but I can’t imagine its having an audience beyond those mentioned in its pages, and still alive.
P & I talking Blake on the porch while the thunder blasted in the east. The Male is a Furnace of beryl; the Female is a golden Loom.
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